


Goodbye Apathy

by moonstones42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, references to past sexual abuse, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstones42/pseuds/moonstones42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman saved from hell by the hand of an angel is sent to find Dean, whom she recognizes from their time in the pit. As they attempt to move on from the hardships of hell and understand the implications of their rescue from perdition, their relationship continues to evolve. But will she be able to help him overcome his guilt and find out exactly what it is these angels want from them? Or will Dean's self-destructive nature get the better of him once again and ruin their one shot at preventing the apocalypse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrender

Dean let out a huff of frustration as his eyes skimmed across yet another useless page of newspaper articles. He could hear the click-clack of Sam’s keyboard from across the room, and the sound of his brother’s typing was nearly enough to send him over the edge. They hadn’t left the motel room in two days other than for food and booze, and the cabin fever was really starting to get to him. He needed a job—and soon, before he resorted to chucking Sam’s laptop out of the window.

A knock on the door caused a startled Sam to leap from his seat, and the computer crashed to the floor. Dean allowed himself a small smile as his brother cursed under his breath; that took care of that problem.

“Dean Winchester,” a female voice called from the other side of the door, and Dean’s smile immediately faded. He cast a slightly alarmed glance at Sam, who merely shrugged. “I know you’re in there,” the voice called. “He told me I could find you here!”

Dean felt dread begin to pool in his stomach, and he silently rose from his seat. He pulled his gun and motioned for Sam to stand on one side of the doorframe as he approached from the other.

“Who did? Who told you that?” Dean questioned, and he did his best to keep his voice calm but forceful. He was tired of crazy sons of bitches chasing him down, but at least this beat staring at newspaper articles for hours on end. Maybe she was a vampire. Or better yet, a shape-shifter—Dean hated those freaks but at least things were always more exciting whenever they were around.

“It said it was an angel,” the woman replied, and Dean let out a disappointed sigh. Angels were annoying, righteous, and downright stressful—not exciting. In all honesty Dean would have rather gone back to the newspapers than be stuck dealing with them.

He returned his gun to the waistband of his pants and motioned for Sam to put away Ruby’s knife before he pulled open the door. Dean’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the blonde woman coated in dirt standing before him.  She held her shirtsleeve rolled up to reveal an angry handprint-shaped burn on her arm, and her lips were spread into a grim smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Dean,” she told him, and it was all Dean could do not to faint right then and there.

_A plan is a gamble from the start_

_When those involved are left in the dark_

 

* * *

Melanie let out a contented sigh as she leaned back in the wooden chair and stretched her arms high over her head. She’d just finished her first meal back in the land of the living, and god had it tasted good—nothing beat an old fashioned double bacon cheeseburger and fries. Her twenty-minute shower had been wonderful as well, although discovering just how much dirt her hair could hold had been more than a little disturbing. After seeing herself in the mirror upon her arrival to the motel, Melanie had decided she could never go brunette—anything darker than her hair’s current honey-blonde coloring would bring back terrible memories of creepy crawlies hiding far too close for comfort.

She was glad Dean’s younger brother been at the motel as well, as she got the feeling that without his presence Dean would have fainted, kicked her to the curb, or both. Instead, she got to eat the delicious food Sam had purchased for her and wear the comically oversized t-shirt he’d loaned her. The shorts Sam had given her were uncomfortably baggy, and she resolved to remove them the moment she got a chance; the sight of her parading around in nothing more than a t-shirt might serve as more of a shock than either of the Winchester boys could handle.

Melanie took a long drink from her chocolate milkshake and looked over at the two brothers seated on the twin beds across the room. Both of them watched her intently, and she stared back at them unflinchingly as she sucked at her straw. Sam looked confused yet curious about her sudden arrival, while the green tint to Dean’s skin suggested he might vomit at any moment.

“So, what’s your name?” Sam asked once she’d put down her drink, and she offered him a smile.

“Melanie,” she told them, and Dean flinched. “I’m a hunter like the two of you. Or at least I was,” she added, and she watched as Dean took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face.

“You ok?” she heard Sam ask his brother in a quiet tone, and Dean waved away his concern.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said harshly, and Sam gave him a wary glance before he turned his attention back to Melanie.

“How did you get out? I mean I’m assuming you were buried somewhere nearby, right?” he asked, and she nodded.

“I never thought I’d be so happy to wake up in a coffin buried six feet under,” she told them with a small smile and a shake of her head. Sam’s lips quirked to the side ever so slightly, but Dean did not look amused in the least. He really was quite the sour-puss. “Luckily I put in my will that I wanted to be buried with my favorite knife—otherwise there’s no way I would’ve made it out of that stupid coffin this well off,” she said with a glance down at her bandaged fingers.

Sam had cleaned and wrapped her wounds upon her arrival, but even with the help of her knife, her hands had been in pretty bad shape. She hated to think of the state her fingers would have been in otherwise. There no way she would have just given up and suffocated down there—she  would have clawed her way out of that box no matter how many splintered and nail-less fingers she would’ve ended up with .

“But how did you know where to find us? And why were you looking for Dean in the first place?” Sam asked, and Melanie paused as she tried to think of the best way to explain what had happened. The dramatic effect of her silence was merely a plus.

“When I finally pulled myself out of my own grave, there was this creature waiting for me. It was beautiful, with huge feathery wings and a light surrounding it that glowed from the inside. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen or even heard of. It told me to find Dean Winchester, and to show you the mark once I did. It led me here, to the motel, and then it just disappeared once I got to the door.”

The two boys stared at her.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what happened; isn’t that what happened to you?” she asked Dean. He looked shocked, as if he’d been suddenly doused in cold water, and he merely shook his head in response.

“Not quite,” Sam told her, and Melanie frowned. “Can you just give us a second?” Sam asked as he rose from the bed and pulled his brother up with him. Melanie nodded, although she of course had no intention of giving them the privacy they’d asked for.

“Dean what the hell is going on here?” she heard Sam ask in a hushed tone once the two boys were across the room. “How many people are they planning on pulling from hell? And why? I mean one is just an anomaly but two?” Dean merely shrugged in response, and Melanie feigned studying her fingers when Dean’s gaze flickered in her direction.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” she heard Dean mutter, and she kept her eyes downcast as his gaze remained focused on her.

“Plus it sounds like she could see the true form of whatever angel pulled her out,” she heard Sam say, and she sat up a bit straighter. If Dean hadn’t seen the glowing winged creature, then what had he seen?

“Didn’t Cas say that’s what he’d expected from you? That he’d thought you would’ve been able to see his true form?” Sam continued, and Melanie frowned. Who was Cas? It sounded like he’d been the one to pull Dean from hell—did that mean he’d been the one to rescue her, too?

“Maybe they’re looking for something, and they decided to keep pulling people out until they found it,” Sam said excitedly, and Dean merely hummed in agreement with his eyes still on Melanie. What could the angles possibly be looking for? Had they found it in her? And why did Dean sound so damned uninterested in all of this?

“Dean, how do you know Melanie?” Sam asked, and she heard his voice change as his tone took on a hint of wary concern. She glanced over at them just in time to see Dean give his brother a tired look.

“You don’t want to know, Sammy,” Dean sighed, and Melanie took a deep breath at his words. No, Sammy most definitely did not.

Melanie smiled up at the boys as they returned to her side of the room, and she tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her head.  She reached up to massage her temples as she fought back a yawn, and she waved away Sam’s concern just as Dean had. Melanie had been running on pure adrenaline during her search for Dean, and the need for food had been enough to keep her awake once she’d found him; but now that she’d completed her mission and filled her stomach, her exhaustion was quickly taking its toll.

“You can stay here for the night,” Sam offered, and he shot Dean a glare when the older brother let out an indignant grunt. “She was obviously told to find you for a reason, so it only makes sense for her to stay close. At least until we figure out what’s going on here,” Sam reasoned, and Dean crossed his arms and pouted like a pissy five-year-old. Melanie held back an eye-roll and instead offered Sam a tired smile.

“Thank you,” she told him as she rose to her feet, and Sam nodded with a polite smile of his own. Melanie made her way over to one of the room’s two twin beds, and she didn’t give a damn about being polite or courteous as she climbed in between the sheets; it wasn’t her problem if the two brothers were forced to share a bed for the night or rent another room— she’d just climbed out of hell and frankly didn’t give a damn about courtesy.

_And now she lay her down to sleep_

_We pray the Lord her soul to keep._

_For if Melanie die before she wake,_

_Will the Lord her soul to take?_

_. . ._

_Or does Another lie in wait?_

_*~*~*~*~*_

Melanie tentatively blinked open her eyes, and she let out a relieved sigh when she caught sight of the stained ceiling overhead. She’d half-expected to wake up to the tortured screams and wails that had been ever-present in hell. Her dreams had been filled with visions of the pit, and the entire time she’d slept she’d told herself that it would all be over when she opened her eyes. If she’d woken up back in hell after only a few hours back in the land of the living, it would have been worse than any torture she’d been through so far.

Melanie glanced to her right, expecting to see Sam or Dean fast asleep in the bed beside her, but the sheets were vacant and unused. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced around the room for any sign of the Winchester boys. Surely they hadn’t been stupid enough to leave her here—she deeply resented the idea of having to search them out again, and she could guarantee that she wouldn’t be so friendly the next time they met.

But it turned out that her unspoken threats were completely uncalled for, as Dean sat across the room at the table where she’d eaten earlier. The light of the lamp beside him shone on an assortment of handguns and rifles, and she wondered how often he spent the darkest hours of the night cleaning his weapons.

It was a soothing ritual, she knew: taking the guns apart, rubbing them clean, and then reassembling them. The repetitiveness was incredibly peaceful, and she got the feeling Dean wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed. Melanie collapsed back down onto the pillows and willed herself to fall back asleep. If Dean was upset, then it was only fair that she leave him to his healing process.

But Melanie knew that Dean was dealing with a much bigger problem than any cleaning spree could solve. She was sure Sam had already done his best to heal his brother, but she also knew that his good natured condolences couldn’t have done anything to improve Dean’s state of mind.

No matter how much she wanted to return to sleep, even if it meant returning to nightmares of hell, Melanie knew it was in her power to heal Dean. It probably wasn’t why the angel had told her to find him, but Melanie had seen enough pain and suffering in the past twenty years—she didn’t care if the calendars said it had only been two months, the calendars were obviously wrong—that she wasn’t going to sit by and let someone needlessly suffer. Even if that someone was Dean Winchester.

Melanie took a deep breath, then tossed back the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The shirt she wore fell to her mid-thighs, so she didn’t bother pulling on Sam’s uncomfortable shorts before she padded over to stand beside Dean. When it became clear that he would not be the one to start up a conversation, Melanie settled for watching him work. He expertly pulled apart a rifle and reassembled it again after fastidiously cleaning it, and his movements were quick but diligent as he rubbed a brush in and out of the barrel of a handgun. She noted that his fingers were rather skilled, and she took a deep breath as she tried to steer her mind back towards the topic at hand—she was supposed to be helping Dean, not fantasizing about all the delicious things he could do to her with those nimble fingers.

“So, where’s Sam?” Melanie asked after clearing her throat and getting her mind back on track. She sat down in the chair beside him.

“I don’t know. He tends to disappear at night,” Dean said simply, and he didn’t bother to elaborate. When it became clear that she was going to have to work to get anything out of him, Melanie decided to go for the more direct approach.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” she told him after a pause, and she closely watched his face for a response. His hands ceased their movement but his eyes remained fixed on the gun he held tightly in his grip. “Dean, I don’t hate you,” she repeated, and the gun fell to the table with a clang. Dean turned to face her, and the unfamiliar sensation of pity surged within her as she took in his anguished expression and teary eyes. She’d been able to tell that he was very far from alright, but she’d never thought she would see the day when Dean Winchester shed a tear.

“How could you not hate me? How could you not?” he demanded, and his voice was rough with self-loathing. Dean leaned forward earnestly, and Melanie’s eyes widened in surprise at his sudden proximity. “I tortured you. I ripped you apart with my bare hands, day after day, year after year, and I enjoyed it,” he growled, and his lip curled in disgust even as tears ran down his cheeks. “You have to hate me.”

“Dean, don’t you understand? That wasn’t you who did all those things, not really,” she told him, and she placed a gentle hand on his arm when he tried to turn away from her. That was the voice she saved for her brother and her mother whenever they were distressed—why was she using it with Dean? But even though it was strange that she should talk to him like this, it didn’t feel wrong. It was the most effective way she knew to explain things to people when they were afraid or upset, and Dean definitely fell into both categories.

“That’s how they do it—that’s how they turn people into demons, Dean,” she continued. “They break you down and tear you apart until there’s nothing left, until you’re barely even human anymore. Then they fill you up with hatred and bloodlust until your eyes go black as night and you can’t even remember what it’s like to feel anything other than rage. They were changing you, Dean. That wasn’t you down there, not anymore.”  

Dean stared at her for a long moment, and when he finally spoke again his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“I remember that day I first saw you. You were clean, fresh—no scars yet, no knowledge of just how bad things could be down there on the rack. You were terrified, and that excited me beyond belief. I could tell that the moment you saw me, the moment you saw the way I looked at you, you knew there was no hope for you. I was your own personal monster and you knew it. After they tied you down, I thought ‘now the real fun can begin’. I cut off your fingers. One by one. Then your toes. Then your wrists and ankles, then elbows and knees, and I just kept going until there was nothing left of you. It’s unforgivable, what I did to you. I cut you, I stabbed you, I killed you in the worst imaginable was. Every day.  You begged me to stop, you screamed until you couldn’t even breathe anymore. But I never did. Not once did I stop hurting you.”

“Because you couldn’t,” Melanie reminded him, and her fingers dug into his arm as she willed him to understand. She needed to get through to him. Melanie knew who was really to blame for the things that had been done to her, and it wasn’t Dean.  If he didn’t accept it too, then he would never be able to move on. This hatred would eat him up inside until there was nothing left, and Melanie didn’t even bother to deny that she wanted to prevent that more than anything.  

“Because I didn’t want to,” he corrected in a loud, pained voice. A stunned silence followed, and Melanie relaxed her grip on his arm but still didn’t pull away. Dean let out a strangled sob.

“Dean, you have to stop this,” Melanie pleaded, but he shook his head like a stubborn child in response. “Dean. Look at me, Dean,” she demanded, and the sudden sternness of her voice brought his gaze back to hers like that of a guilty puppy. “This ends tonight. This self-loathing of yours, this intense hatred you have for yourself—it’s all got to stop. We’re out of the pit, Dean. And we didn’t get pulled out just so we could sit around crying about how terrible it was down there. It doesn’t get any worse than what we went through, I agree. But it’s over now and we have to move on.”

Dean continued to stare at her once she’d finished her speech, but something had changed in his gaze. It was as if a fire that had been extinguished long ago was finally burning once again deep inside of him, and Melanie was momentarily captivated by the heat of it. She felt as if after all this time he was finally letting himself off the hook, and as the guilt melted away the real Dean was coming back to life.

Dean’s fingers reached for her face, and she leaned towards him without hesitation when he touched her. Melanie didn’t quite understand what was going on, but she didn’t want to understand. She just wanted to feel.

Surprisingly soft pads brushed her cheek as his fingers traveled the same path he’d slashed a sharp blade down during their time in the pit. He touched her neck, tickling the spot where he’d plunged a knife to rip out her jugular. Melanie’s breath hitched and her eyes fluttered shut as memories of the pain Dean had caused her were quickly replaced by the feelings of desire his touch now stirred within her. It had been twenty years since she’d been touched so tenderly, and the need for more of these sensations was almost overpowering. Dean’s face was just inches away from hers, and she desperately wanted to feel those lips dance across her skin the way his fingers did.

Jesus Christ.

She wanted to fuck Dean Winchester—and she wanted it bad.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered earnestly, and Melanie breathed a heavy “I forgive you” before she caught his lips in a desperate kiss.

Her hard exterior seemed to fall away like a heavy shell, and Melanie felt as if she was melting deep in her core as Dean slid his tongue into her mouth and buried a hand in her hair. She felt like a little girl again: small, vulnerable, and fragile. She loved it.Melanie didn’t care about being fearless anymore, about making sure she was too intimidating to ever be taken advantage of. No, all she wanted was Dean: warm, delicious, beautiful Dean, with his hungry lips and roaming hands.

_And Dean Winchester_

_Is exactly what she got._

_But a smart girl like Melanie_

_Should have known by now_

_That one should always beware_

_The dangers of frenzied desire._

* * *

 

Dean wrapped his arms around Melanie’s waist with a hungry growl, and she gave a breathless little cry as he lifted her from her seat and pulled her onto his lap. He’d forced himself not to think of how fucking hot she was when she’d arrived on their doorstep, and he’d tried to ignore how attracted he was to her as they’d talked. But now, when he could feel her bare legs pressed against his through the thin material of his boxers, all Dean could think of was how badly he wanted her. He reached down to slide his palm up her thigh, and his fingers instinctively pressed into the warm, soft flesh. Her body was flawless now, completely devoid of horrible markings or scars, and he wanted to explore every inch of this fresh new territory.

Melanie sighed into the kiss and pushed herself harder against him, and Dean gave a grunt of surprise as her mouth worked at his with all the fervor of…well, with all the fervor of a girl who hadn’t been laid in twenty years. Her hands eagerly pushed beneath his shirt and chased across his torso, and he pushed his own hand up the back of her shirt to trail his fingers up and down her spine. Melanie’s entire body seemed to tremble at his touch, and Dean grinned into the kiss as she shivered into him. God this was going to be fun.

Dean felt his excitement—and his cock— rise even higher as he slid his hands southward to firmly grip her bare ass. She greedily jerked her hips into him, and Dean cast his eyes towards the ceiling as he offered up a silent prayer of thanks. He would’ve given anything to get into the pants of such a gorgeous woman who made the most enticing sounds in response to his every touch, and some angel had decided to give her to him for free. Someone really was looking out for him up there, and he was determined to take advantage of this generous gift.

Melanie let out a startled gasp as Dean hefted her into the air, and her arms tightened around his neck as he carried her across the room. He stumbled across the carpet until he reached the bed she’d previously occupied, before he collapsed on top of her and rolled them onto the mattress.

He stared down at her for a moment as her large brown eyes watched him expectantly, and he found himself reconsidering his previous prayer of thanks. She wasn’t just some chick he’d picked up in a bar or even some grateful woman he’d helped on a job, and she hadn’t been sent to him like a giftwrapped package. Melanie was a person—and a strong one at that.

Dean had broken this girl. Day in and day out for ten years he’d torn her to pieces until there was nothing left. But she was here, she was healed, and she wanted to help heal him. It was Dean’s duty to repay her for all those terrible things he’d done, not to take advantage of the fact that, God knows why, she seemed to care about him. Melanie deserved more than just a quick and dirty fuck in a motel room; hell, she deserved far more than anything he could ever give her. But God help him if he didn’t do his best to please her with everything he had.

With these thoughts in mind, Dean pressed a gentle kiss on Melanie’s lips. She hummed contentedly into his mouth, and her arms floated up and around his shoulders to hold him in place. She was so delicate, so gentle, and he wanted to kiss her for all eternity, with her lips so warm and soft beneath his tongue. But she squirmed beneath him in a way that set his blood on fire, and he knew that no matter how enjoyable this was, it wasn’t enough.

Dean broke the kiss after a few glorious minutes to push her cotton t-shirt up and over her head, and he quickly removed his own as well. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at her naked body, and he was sure he’d never seen a rack like hers as he watched the rise and fall of her chest. It wasn’t as if her breasts were particularly large or perky or anything like that, but Dean had never enjoyed feeling a girl up as much as he did when he reached forward to cup Melanie’s breasts.

His thumbs traced the darker circles of skin that surrounded her bright pink nipples, and he knew his own ragged breathing mirrored Melanie’s as his fingers traced her skin. He gave her left breast a gentle squeeze before he bent down and pressed his mouth against it, and he heard her take in a quiet gasp even as he let out a groan of his own. Melanie’s hands slid through his hair as he suckled at her, and he could feel her bandaged fingers pressed into his scalp when he gently rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She rotated her hips into his, her inner thigh grinding against his cock, and her breast fell from his mouth as Dean let out another groan and his jaw went slack with pleasure.

“Jesus, Dean,” he heard her whisper, and he looked up to see her eyes wide with wonder. He never wanted her to stop looking at him like that—with that hungry reverence, that lusty veneration, that ravenous adoration. He’d never thought someone’s gaze could be so fucking enticing, but dear God the way she was looking at him sent him burning inside. Dean didn’t break eye contact as he kissed down her stomach, and his lips followed a line down her abdomen until his head was positioned between her legs. Yes, if she just kept that expression, if she just stared at him like that for a while, he was sure he could get himself to come without ever touching his cock. He didn’t even care that that was probably the most pathetic thought he’d ever had.

Melanie let out a startled gasp and her head fell back onto the mattress when Dean enveloped her clitoris with his mouth and slowly caressed it with his tongue. He could no longer see her face, but his head was flooded with the sounds of her going out of her mind with pleasure. So apparently not only did her facial expressions drive him crazy, but the very noises she made did as well. How was it even possible for one woman to make him feel so good with just the sound and sight of her? His cock was being neglected but at this point it felt like she’d been stroking him off this whole time.

Dean continued to kiss her lewdly, using his tongue in every way he knew how as he endeavored to draw out a symphony of noises from her lips. She began gently rolling her hips up into his face, and Dean pressed his fingers into her hips as he pushed his tongue into her. God, why was this turning him on this much? He’d never been one for eating out on a girl, and always did his best to talk his way out of it whenever it was wanted of him. But here, now, her lust was so enticing, so ridiculously delicious, that he hummed against her vagina just to see how she’d react.

“Fuck, Dean,” she panted, and the sound of her voice startled him. Her words faded away into hungry moans, but Dean wanted to hear her speak again—he wanted her to talk to him, to whisper her filthiest desires as he fucked her with his mouth. He hummed again and pushed his tongue even farther into her, eager to hear more from her, and she gave a desperate cry. “Fuck,” she swallowed, and he slowly removed his tongue to drag it up and down her vagina before he plunged it inside of her again.

“Dean. Dean,” she panted, and he fleetingly wondered if she was running out of oxygen up there; she sounded as if she really might pass out if she didn’t get what she needed as soon as possible. “Dean, fuck me. Please—God—oh God, Dean!”

Dean pulled his face away from her, and he nearly fell off of the bed in his excitement as he scrambled out of his boxers as fast as he could. God, that voice—she was so needy, so hungry for him, and he loved it. He kneeled before her, ready to pounce, ready to give her his all, but he hesitated when he realized exactly what Melanie was doing. Her hands had hurried down between her legs to fill the vacancy his mouth had left, and the already present strain in his cock grew as he watched her touch herself. Her fingers slid against her slippery skin, her hips rolled up into her hands, and her cheeks were flushed bright pink with heat; it was enough to get him completely hard in seconds.

Dean crawled back over her and kissed her hard, and his mouth moved voraciously against hers as he cupped her cheek in one hand and one of her breasts in the other. Her fingers retreated from her vagina and pressed into his ass instead as his cock neared its destination, and she gasped into his mouth as he penetrated her. The kiss quickly fell apart as her jaw slackened with pleasure and she breathed in heavily through her mouth, and Dean’s eyes fell shut as he moved over her. All he could think about was how fucking good it felt to be so deep inside of her—she was so hot, so wet, so fucking perfect around his cock . She was whimpering with every breath now, and Dean forced himself to hold back, to not let himself spill over because of that sound alone. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. This was about Melanie, about pleasuring her after all the pain he’d caused her. He couldn’t come yet, not until she was satisfied.

But fuck, that noise she was making—it was driving him crazy, that high-pitched keen at the end of every breath she took, that tiny little noise that told him she needed him, she wanted him. Her hands were on his back now, holding him close to her, and he could feel her bandaged fingertips dragging against his shoulder blades. Her back arched up towards him and her breath puffed hot on his face as she gave a gasping cry, calling out his name in a strained voice as her fingers clutched at his back.

A moment later her entire body began to tremble, and Dean buried his face into her shoulder as she tightened around his cock. Her muscles continued to constrict around him even as her cries grew louder, and Dean heard himself let out a desperate groan as he held on for dear life and tried to remain in this current state of delicious suspense. But she just kept getting tighter and wetter and louder and dear God if he could just hold back a bit longer, let her continue her orgasm for just a few more moments— Dean let out a shout as the tension finally reached an unbearable level, a guttural noise bubbling up from his throat as he came inside of her with a shivering surge.

Dean gave a shuddering sigh as he collapsed on top of her, and he smiled to himself a few minutes later as he blearily congratulated himself on holding back long enough to allow Melanie to come as well. Her breathing was steady and calm now, he noticed, and Dean pulled his face away from her neck only to find her fast asleep beneath him. He couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at his lips as he stared down at her sleeping form. Her features were completely relaxed, totally at ease, and he did his best to memorize this image. After all the ways he’d seen her face twist in pain at his hand, he wanted to hold onto this picture of serenity.

Dean brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, letting his fingers drift down her cheek and then trace the line of her jaw. He realized with a jolt that his current actions were starting to get kind of creepy, so he shifted his weight so that he lay just beside her. Dean pulled the sheets up to cover both of them, then gave a heavy sigh of contentment as he stared up at the stained ceiling. After ten years of torturing souls  in hell,  Dean Winchester finally felt as if he’d managed to something to make up for it—even if only just a little.

_The worst kind of torture_

_Doesn’t destroy you in the moment,_

_But afterwards—_

_When it’s just you_

_And the memory of the pain,_

_And the knowledge_

_That it will never truly end._


	2. Duty

When Melanie opened her eyes, she found herself seated in a large faux-leather armchair in the motel’s main lobby. She hadn’t the slightest clue how she got there, and in all honestly she’d thought her sleepwalking self might have picked a more exciting destination than a dinky motel lobby. But before Melanie could further ponder how incredibly lame her sleepwalking self was and maybe make her way back to the Winchester’s motel room, she caught sight of the only other man in the room.

He wasn’t short exactly, but the considerable bulge around his middle and the style of the cheap black suit he wore made him seem rather squat. He smiled at her, and Melanie gave him her best scowl in response. Although she didn’t really know what a smarmy salesman was doing here in the wee hours of the morning, she wasn’t in the mood to purchase a magic toaster or whatever he was selling. When the man took a step closer, regardless of her best ‘fuck off’ face, Melanie reached for her knife—and cursed herself a moment later. Her sleep-self really was an idiot.

“Hello, Melanie,” the man said, and at the sound of his voice all –ok, almost all—thoughts of escape were instantly forgotten. She recognized that voice. She’d heard something like it before, not quite the same but similar enough that it kept her from kicking him in the throat when he continued to approach.

“My name is Uriel,” he told her, and Melanie felt her eyes widen as she gaped up at him from her chair. Good thing she hadn’t kicked him. Or brought her knife. Perhaps her sleep-self wasn’t such an idiot after all; Melanie had always been more of a ‘stab first, ask questions later’ kind of girl.

“So, you’re an angel,” she said slowly. She thought about asking why he now looked like an untrustworthy salesman, but she decided against it. “You’re the one who saved me,” she added a moment later as the realization hit her, and she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. She was grateful, of course, but after hearing the way Sam talked about the angle Cas, she couldn’t help but admit that she wished he’d been the one to rescue her too. It was stupid, of course—she was alive either way—but Cas sounded pretty friendly, while this guy…well, Melanie was sure ‘friendly’ would never make its way onto the Words to Describe Uriel List.

“I am indeed,” he told her, and she noticed his chest puffed out a little as he spoke. It was almost as if he was proud of having been the one to save her, and that definitely weirder her out. Then again, she was sitting in a motel lobby talking to the angel who’d pulled her out of hell; things were bound to be a little weird.

“There are a few things I need to tell you,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair opposite hers and laced his fingers together. He watched her over his hands and she bit down on her lip to hold back a laugh; this guy was trying so hard to be all mysterious and powerful that it was ridiculous. Things would go a lot faster if he just did away with all the theatrics and said what he meant.

“You mean the reason you brought me back,” she told him, and when he smiled at her she did her best to ignore the way it made her stomach curdle. This dude was a little too good at being creepy without even trying—and since when were angels creepy?

“Precisely,” he agreed with a nod. “You’re far more intelligent than those bumbling apes I sent you to lodge with until I could visit you again,” he told her with a chuckle, and she forced herself to smile amiably at his insult. No matter how much she wanted to bash his nose in, there was no way Melanie was going to stand up against an angel.

“It’s really alright,” she assured him, seeing as she couldn’t argue against him, and Uriel gave a little frown. He clearly detested the Winchesters, and he seemed to struggle with the idea of someone not wholeheartedly supporting his opinion of them.

“Regardless of how incredibly insufferable they are, you’ll be staying with them for quite some time,” he told her, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Melanie wanted to ask why she’d be staying with the Winchesters—and why she’d been sent to them in the first place—but Uriel had already moved on.

“Now, onto business. You are here because you are an incredibly powerful weapon, Melanie Clarkson,” he told her, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise. A weapon? Like a suicide bomber or something?  How else were people made into weapons? Captain America had been a weapon, she supposed. Technically he was really more of a super-soldier, but she’d definitely rather be him than a suicide bomber.

Were the angles going to make her into the biblical version of Captain America? Would they dose her up with the Holy Spirit until she was super strong, and give her a giant Bible to use as a shield against her enemies? Would she get a cool costume? Probably not, if the angles were in charge of the operation, she thought with a disdainful glance at Uriel’s incredibly dull suit.

Melanie shook her head to clear her mind as she realized she’d gotten so far off track it was embarrassing. Captain America and giant Bible shields? Perhaps Uriel had accidentally left her sanity behind when he’d pulled her out of hell.

After another few seconds it finally occurred to her to ask for clarification rather than trying to come up with her own senseless explanations.

“What does that mean, exactly? A weapon?” she asked, and Uriel waved away her question with a smile.

“All in good time,” he told her, and she fought back a growl of frustration. Captain America it was, then.

“You will be central in our quest to stop the apocalypse,” Uriel told her, and Melanie interrupted again as her brow creased in confusion. She’d read Revelations, and she was pretty sure, Captain America or not, that there was absolutely no way she would ever be capable of stopping the apocalypse. Even the Avengers—Spiderman included—would have a hard time with a task like that.

“You mean the apocalypse? Not the ridiculous Mayan calendar one or even the fanatic cult kind? We’re talking nine-headed dragons and four horsemen and all that crazy assed shit?” she asked, getting a little carried away with herself as she spoke. Melanie gave a sheepish smile of apology when Uriel cringed at her word choice. She wanted to keep this conversation smite-free, and calling something Uriel clearly took seriously “crazy assed shit” probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.

“The dragons are unlikely, but yes, the apocalypse of Revelations will be among us quite soon,” he said tensely. “And we are counting on you to stop it,” he repeated, and Melanie stared at him in a silent daze for almost a full minute before she remembered how to speak again. But Uriel moved on before she could even begin to get a word in.

“And I must require that you do not repeat to Dean Winchester any of what I’ve told you here,” he said, and his words were so incredibly unexpected—because everything he’d said so far had just been oh so predictable— that Melanie merely blinked at him.

“Sorry, what?” she asked incredulously, and the idea that he was specifically asking her to keep this meeting a secret bothered her more than anything else he’d said so far. This angel had obviously lost his marbles, but the fact that he didn’t want Dean to know about their conversation seemed more than a little sketchy.

“He isn’t ready to face the role he’s expected to play in all of this. But there isn’t any reason to feel guilty,” he added with a smile when he noticed her uncomfortable expression. “You won’t be the only one keeping secrets,” Uriel assured her, and Melanie’s discomfort only increased. Now he was just being unnecessarily disturbing.

“But what am I supposed to do? I mean, this is crazy! This is the end of the world we’re talking about! How can you expect me to stop it?” she asked, her hands waving through the air for emphasis, and she nearly reached out and broke Uriel’s chubby little fingers when he did that stupid dismissive wave again.

“All in good time,” he told her again, and Meanie dug her fingers into the chair’s armrests rather than into his eye sockets.

The stupid asshole had just said they didn’t have any time, and now he was stalling just to be all mysterious? How was she supposed to help him if he didn’t tell her what he wanted her to do?

Melanie rose to her feet, prepared to voice all these thoughts and more, despite the fact that getting smitten by an angel was definitely at the very top of her To NotDo List. But before she could even open her mouth Uriel was gone, and a moment later everything went dark.

_Chosen for a great purpose,_

_Man and woman to save the world._

_The darkness is coming, Lucifer rises._

_And if they disobey,_

_The Dark Prince will return_

_To destroy us all._

_*~*~*~*~*_

Melanie let out a startled gasp as her eyes flew open, and the only thing that kept her from jerking upright was the heavy arm draped low over her hips.

She was in bed, her head resting against a disappointingly un-fluffy pillow, and she was naked. Why was she naked? And where was Uriel?

It took Melanie a moment to realize that her little late-night angel visit must have been an unbelievably, rather uncomfortably, vivid dream. And it wasn’t until she felt something large and soft and incredibly warm press against her beneath the sheets that she remembered why she was naked.

Melanie glanced down to see a tuft of light brown hair peeking out from beneath the blankets, and her mind was flooded with memories of the previous night. Jesus Christ, how had she forgotten? She’d—she and Dean had—God, that had been…Melanie took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart rate as she recalled how Dean had felt as he’d moved over of her, the way his tongue had—

Dean grumbled in his sleep, and he wrapped a leg around hers with a shiver. He snuggled even closer to her, and she moved the sheets away from his face to see his nose pressed into her upper arm.  She’d expected to see his facial muscles relaxed with sleep, but his eyes danced rapidly behind his eyelids and his face twisted in pain. Dean’s fingers dug into her hip and he gave a terrified little whimper as he buried his face in the crook of her arm.

He was having a nightmare, she realized, and she gently pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. As long as he was asleep he’d be trapped in hell, stuck there like he’d never left. And although there was no way she could stop his nightmares all together, she wasn’t just going to sit by and watch him in agony.

“Dean,” she whispered, and he let out a grunt of fear. He was trembling beside her, and she insistently pushed at his shoulder. “Dean, wake up. Wake up,” she said, and he sucked in a shuddering gasp before his eyes snapped open. Dean stared up at her a moment later, his expression filled with panic, and she soothingly ran her thumb back and forth along his shoulder. “It’s alright, Dean. You’re safe now,” she assured him, and he frowned up at her in confusion. “You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, and he let out a heavy sigh as his face finally relaxed.

“God I hate those things,” he said emphatically, and she hummed in agreement. A moment of silence followed, and Dean shifted slightly beside her. She glanced down to see him fingering her hip bone with his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, and she felt a jolt in her stomach when his eyes flickered up to meet hers. Dean blinked up at her with those impossibly long lashes as his lips slowly spread into a smile, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks as he continued to look at her.

Dean didn’t bother answering her question, and instead turned his head to the side to brush his lips over the back of her hand on his shoulder.  She watched in fascination as his tongue flicked out to trace slow circles, and a few seconds later his teeth joined in to lightly nip at her skin.

Dean had hammered a nail through that hand during their time in the pit. He’d pounded an iron spike through thin flesh and fragile bones without remorse…and now his mouth worked at the same spot as if trying to suck away scars that only existed in their minds.

He eventually moved away from her hand and turned attention back to her other arm. She let out a tiny whimper as his breath puffed over her handprint burn, but she sucked in a gasp when something wet flickered over the raw skin. She glanced down to see Dean lightly wetting the pink skin with his tongue, and she enjoyed the sensation much more than she’d expected to as soft, wet pleasure mixed with hot, tingling pain. But her attention was quickly pulled away from the burn as Dean’s fingers, firm and sure, pushed down between her thighs.

She let out a breathy sigh as those fingers she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind rubbed slow, hypnotic circles around her clit, and they stroked and tickled and caressed until she was sure she was going to go insane. Dean’s tongue explored her mouth and his other hand tangled in hair, but all she could think about were those damn fingers as he pushed them into her.

And dear God they felt just as good as she’d thought they would, moving and sliding inside of her and then—dear God—digging even farther, even deeper, pushing in until she was pushing back against them just as greedily.

She could feel herself seeping all over Dean’s fingers, trickling down her own thighs as her legs clenched around his sides, and she thought of last night, of the odd taste of his lips after his mouth had been smeared with her.

Melanie didn’t quite understand how Dean did this to her—the aching yearning she currently felt was far more intense and addictive than any reaction a man had evoked from her in the past—but she decided she didn’t really care. She could do this for all eternity and never give a damn about why getting fucked by Dean Winchester felt so much headier, so much more satisfying, than anything else she’d ever experienced.

So it took all of Melanie’s self-control to push back at Dean’s chest until she could roll herself on top of him. His hand fell away from her vagina as they shifted, and she let out a heavy sigh as those wonderful fingers disappeared. But it was only fair that Melanie not take advantage of the way Dean was clearly more intent on giving sexual favors than receiving them.

Melanie wasn’t an idiot—she knew what Dean was up to. He might have thought that he was being clever, or that she’d just been too blissed out to notice the night before. But it was obvious that he was on some kind of quest for retribution, and for some reason he seemed to equate touching her vagina with forgiveness of sins.

It wasn’t healthy, what Dean was doing, and for God’s sake she’d already forgiven him! And if it was self-forgiveness Dean was after, she was sure this wasn’t the way to go about it. So rather than take advantage of his determination to fuck her till kingdom come, Melanie had decided to turn the tables.

She smiled down at Dean and lightly stroked her fingers along the stubble on his jaw as she straddled his hips. His pupils were huge, his bright pink lips slightly parted, and she felt a jolt of surprise as she realized that he seemed all the more excited by the fact that she was now on top. His breathing was faster, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, and Melanie got the feeling it was more than just the novelty of being on bottom that sent his heartbeat racing.

Melanie leaned low over him, letting her mouth brush against his before she captured his plump bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes slowly fluttered shut as she sucked and nibbled at him, and when she began to gently rock her hips back and forth Dean let out a quiet whimper in response. Oh yes, there was no denying it now; Dean thoroughly enjoyed the idea of Melanie dominating him—and dominate him she would.

She slowly slid her hand down his torso and then lower as she continued to rock into him, until her fingers brushed the tip of his cock. She could feel it against her abdomen, the whole of his shaft pressed into her with his warm balls resting just beneath her vagina, and she took a deep breath as she fought to remain focused. Dean let out another whimper, louder this time, and she grinned as she released his lip from her mouth.

“Dean, you’re so good to me,” she crooned before she slowly dragged her tongue up his neck, grinding into him with more force now, and he let out a shuddering breath in response. She circled her fingers tauntingly, painfully slowly, around the head of his cock, and she could feel him groan low in his throat.  “Now it’s time for me to be good to you,” she purred into his ear, flicking her tongue against his earlobe for good measure. She pulled back slightly and Dean looked up at her with heavily lidded eyes, his pupils blown and his swollen lips shining with saliva.

Melanie trailed her fingers absently across his chest as the yearning between her legs continued to grow, and she told herself to hold back just a little while longer as she bent back down and sank her teeth into his neck. She traced the firm muscle of his abdomen as she tongued at his pulse point, and she pushed her fingers into the hot, soft skin of his sides with a faint moan of her own. She pressed a palm into his stomach, then she circled his perked nipples before she eventually made her way back down to his cock.

“Tell me what you want, Dean,” she said as she dragged her fingers up his shaft, and he groaned as the muscles in his neck tightened beneath her lips. Her touch was so far from enough, she knew. But she loved watching him like this, loved seeing him so desperate to be fucked.

“What do you want, Dean?” she repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper, and when he didn’t respond she pulled her hands away from his cock all together. His balls were now hot against her damp vagina, and she let out an involuntary sigh as she rolled her hips into him with more force than she’d intended, provoking a desperate groan from Dean.

“No, don’t—don’t stop,” he begged, his voice tight and needy as his abandoned cock twitched, and she nipped at his jaw. God, Melanie loved this. She’d never imagined that dominating someone else, wielding this much power over another person, could feel so fucking good. No wonder every guy she’d ever been with had gotten all pissy whenever she’d wanted to be on top. She hadn’t ever even really dominated any of them, anyway; she’d merely switched their positions and let them remain in control. But really having someone submit to your will, having them desperate to be under your command, having them beg you for mercy, was shockingly intoxicating.

“Then tell me what you want,” Melanie told him quietly after a long drawn out pause, and she heard him take in a deep, ragged breath.

“I want—Jesus Christ, I don’t know, do whatever you want,” he panted, and he added a desperate “Please” when she continued to push into him but refrained from touching his cock again.

“You haven’t answered my question, Dean,” she sing-songed, and she felt him tense beneath her. Now she was just being cruel, she knew, but she honestly did want to please him—and what better way to do it than by doing exactly what he wanted? Watching him squirm as he fumbled for an answer was merely a bonus.

“Fuck you,” Dean panted, and Melanie felt her lips spread into a grin as she looked down to see him glaring up at her.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, sweetie,” she cooed, and she let her hands drift dangerously close to the base of his cock…but not quite close enough.

“I—God—uhm, I…” Dean struggled for words as she began to suck at his neck once more, and she hoped he’d come up with an answer soon; she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep from shoving her hips against his scalding balls until she came in a hot flood without regard for what Dean wanted. All she needed was a little more friction, a little more heat, and if Dean wasn’t going to play along she couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be left with an increasingly uncomfortable erection even after she’d pleasured herself. She hated to admit it, but her need was now so great that if he wouldn’t let her help him she wasn’t going to push it this time.

“I want you to ride me like a fucking racehorse,” Dean finally growled, and Melanie heaved a relieved sigh as she slowly sat up.  She really had been hoping he wouldn’t force her to leave him hanging.

“As you wish,” she told him with a breathless grin.

Melanie slid her hands downward with a heavy groan, her jaw going slack as she began to finger herself after needing the pressure for so long, and she felt an added hitch in her breath as she finally allowed herself to take in the sight of Dean’s cock. It stood tall before her, bright pink and already leaking with pre-cum, and Melanie couldn’t believe she’d been so close to letting it go to waste in favor of getting off as soon as possible.  She heard Dean let out a heavy sigh when she reached forward to wrap her hand around the base of his shaft. She began slowly stroking upwards, pulling her hand along her hard-won prize, and Dean groaned when she gave a slight twist each time her grip reached the head.

Melanie’s eyes fluttered shut as she continued to touch herself, and she found herself imagining that they were Dean’s fingers rather than her own as her palm slid over his hot, slick flesh. And then—oh, those were Dean’s fingers, pushing up against hers, impossibly skilled as they rubbed against her skin and pushed into her until she was gloriously wet again.

Melanie’s entire body tingled in anticipation as she rose up to rest on her knees and led Dean’s cock towards her vagina. Their hands fell away as she slowly lowered herself down over him, and she heard Dean let out a heavy sigh as he penetrated her. Her eyes screwed shut and she let out a small cry as her muscles shifted around him until she could feel the length and impossible heat of him buried inside of her.

Dean’s hands now rested on her thighs, and she heard him suck in a gasp as she began to lift her hips up and down over him, rotating her pelvis in small circles as she searched for that perfect angle that would add that wonderful spark of pleasure to the whole encounter. She let out a high-pitched keen the moment she found it, his cock pressing into her in a way that made the yearning hunger within her spike to a new level, and she quickened her pace until Dean’s sticky fingers dug into her thighs.

Melanie stared down at him as he watched her, her hand tightly gripping his shoulder as she leaned forward and continued to eagerly shove herself down onto that perfect cock of his. His green eyes were huge, captivated by her bouncing breasts, and she tossed her slightly tangled blonde locks over her shoulder to give him a better view.

“Is this what you wanted, Dean?” she panted, leaning farther over him with a grin, and his eyes flicked up to her face as he opened his mouth to respond. But she ground her hips into him with more force before he could answer, rolling down against him even as she continued her circular pelvic movements.

God, she loved this. Nothing beat being able to control and optimize the pressure and friction against her clit even as she fucked herself on that glorious cock.

Dean let out a sob—that was the only way she could describe the heaving gasps that now exploded from him after he’d endured her teasing for so long. Melanie could hear her name now, mumbled on his sloppy lips, and she leaned farther over him, cupping his head in her hand and bringing his face closer to her swaying breasts.

“Suck me, Dean,” she commanded, her nipples already tingling in response to his heavy, hot, puffing breaths against her skin. “Suck my tits.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth immediately found her nipple, his tongue swirling and lapping as his teeth squeezed and grazed. It took Melanie a moment to realize that the desperate, yearning cries bouncing off of the room’s walls were in fact coming from her.

Dean’s fingers groped at her ass as his devilish mouth sucked hard at her breasts, and Melanie transferred her grip from his shoulder to the headboard as she leaned farther over him. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, and –Jesus fuck.

Just the slightest of shifts had brought on an explosion of pleasure, and Dean’s dick was now doing things to her that she hadn’t even thought were possible. Her cries were louder now, and Dean responded by pushing up into her from below, thrusting into her at such an incredibly wonderful angle that she honestly couldn’t breathe. She gave up on rhythm or technique or whatever as she frantically slammed into him, ramming down harder and faster and just wanting more.

She was almost there, she knew, so fucking close to bringing her horse across the finish line, and she felt her breast fall from Dean’s mouth as he let out another sob and buried his face in her cleavage.  The sound of her name was now muffled but still louder and more desperate than ever, and it was accompanied by deep throated grunting as Dean began to lift his hips from the mattress to match her sporadic thrusts.

Melanie dug her nails into the wood of the headboard and desperately hoped he wouldn’t come before her. She needed this, needed to finish this race in first place. She had to have him, there was no way she could go on if she didn’t have him right here, right now. She was right on the brink, hurtling towards the edge of the track, and all she needed was one, two, three more thrusts, maybe fou—

Melanie cried out as the coiled pleasure within her finally reached its limit and then squeezed even tighter, all her muscles clenching as her entire body trembled and spasmed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see—but Jesus Christ could she feel, and that was more than enough as her body continued to constrict in the most mind-bogglingly delicious way. She helplessly bounced up and down over Dean as he continued to thrust into her, her own muscles taut and paralyzed with a pleasure so palpable she could practically feel it pressing against her from all sides.

Dean let out a heavy groan, his body quaking beneath her, and Melanie sucked in a startled breath as she felt a rush of liquid surge inside of her. The tension within her snapped that very same moment, and her breaths came in heavy gasps as the built up tightness in her muscles finally relaxed in a crashing wave of pleasure. Her brain swirled with satisfaction as an intense, almost euphoric relief washed over her, and she heard Dean let out a sigh of contentment.

Fuck condoms, Melanie thought a moment later as she collapsed onto Dean’s chest with a heavy sigh of her own. She honestly hadn’t even thought about using protection, this morning or the previous night, and although it was unlike her to behave so recklessly—no, stupidly—she honestly didn’t give a shit right now.

She’d just dominated Dean fucking Winchester; she’d fucked him like a fucking race horse because he’d fucking begged for it. Dean Winchester, the man who was currently whispering senseless praise into her hair and absently stroking her back, the man whose name had such a wonderful ring to it that she just kept repeating it over and over in her head. She probably said it aloud a few times, too, Melanie realized as she explored his scarred bicep with her fingers.

She could worry about consequences—and douche-faced angles with their dragon-free Captain America apocalypse, for that matter—some other time.

_But warnings were given with good reason_

_And the consequences Melanie feared_

_Were no match for the ones she would face_

_If she continued to fight the truth_

* * *

Dean let out a contented sigh as he pressed his nose into Melanie’s hair, and he inhaled a deep breath as he wrapped his arms a bit tighter around her. She smelled of cheap hotel soap, and after almost three decades of bathing in the stuff Dean had long grown to loathe the scent. But the aroma coming from Melanie differed from the standard motel room soap he was used to—it was soft and warm, nothing like the bland odor he’d grown so familiar with over the years. Dean couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but she smelled safe, like as long as he stayed close to her no harm could ever come to him.

Dean knew his ridiculously sappy feelings were merely a result of the incredible sex he’d just had, but he couldn’t push away the thought that Melanie had the most gorgeous hair he’d ever seen. It was multi-colored like on those hair commercials that would always interrupt his viewing of Dr. Sexy, M.D., and when he gently pushed his fingers through the blonde strands tickling her back he swore she’d stolen her locks right off of a Pantene commercial.

Although he was quite skilled in lying to himself, Dean was finding it increasingly hard to believe that these thoughts were merely a side-effect of his post-orgasmic afterglow. He’d had sex countless times with scores of women, and although nothing had ever felt quite as good as it had with Melanie, the paths his mind currently wandered down just weren’t normal. Sam was the one who got all emotional about sex, not Dean. Dean was the “fuck and forget” type, not “fuck and ponder the smell of her hair” type; this was ridiculous!

He was thinking about Melanie, in a way that was more reverent than erotic, and it just didn’t make sense. He’d contemplated the warmth of her skin and the smell of her hair for fuck’s sake, when on any other morning he would’ve been waiting for her to gather her clothes and walk out of his life for good.

And that wasn’t even the strangest part of the whole encounter. No, the most unexpected aspect of it all was the fact that Melanie had gotten him to beg for her, to fucking plead and whimper until he’d literally thought he would explode. And he’d loved every minute of it.

Dean had just begun to analyze the further implications of his apparent kink for submission when the door to the motel clicked open. He felt Melanie’s heartbeat spike against his chest as she turned towards the door, and the surge of panic he felt quickly morphed into one of annoyance as he caught sight of a familiar head of brown hair.

“Dammit Sam!” he shouted, and Sam’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Melanie and Dean tangled together in the sheets.  Sam had held the door open for Ruby to enter in front of him, but he now grabbed her arm in an attempt to pull her back before she noticed them as well.

“Sorry, sorry!” Sam cried with an expression of pure mortification, and if Dean hadn’t been so irritated he would’ve laughed at his little brother’s embarrassment. Ruby looked over at them with her nose wrinkled in disgust, and Dean glared at her as she remained standing in the doorway. She was staring at Melanie now, her brow slightly furrowed, and Dean felt his stomach twist in discomfort when he noticed the way her almost predatory gaze fell on Melanie’s handprint burn.

Dean let out a grunt of surprise and he was pulled away from his observations of Ruby when Melanie suddenly lung ed forward over him. He barely had time to register the fact that she’d pulled a knife from beneath his pillow before she threw the blade across the room with practiced precision.

Sam let out a cry of surprise as the long blade sank into Ruby’s chest and sent the demon stumbling backwards, but all Dean could think about was how fucking hot that had been—Melanie was laying on top of him, completely naked, and had just knifed Ruby right in the heart. Dean was now uncomfortably aware of his morning hard-on, and he found himself wishing Sam and Ruby would just leave already so he and Melanie could continue their far more enjoyable morning activities.

But a moment later Melanie was gone, scrambling off of Dean as she took the top sheet with her and clutched it to her chest. Dean let out a heavy sigh as she stood and crossed the room, but his disappointment quickly waned as he was provided with a stunning view of her ass as she walked away from him.  

“What are you doing?” Sam cried frantically, and Dean’s attention was jerked back to the current fiasco in the doorway. Ruby stood slouched against Sam with her features twisted in pain, and each time she tried to remove the knife she snatched her hand away from the hilt as if she’d been burned.  

Dean couldn’t help but grin as Melanie stared at Sam as if he honestly was the stupidest man alive.

“She’s a demon,” Melanie shouted, and Dean wondered exactly how Melanie had come to this conclusion—because although Ruby was a bitch, so was his fifth grade math teacher and as far as he knew she’d never been possessed. Of course Dean had always had his suspicions, and he’d even ended up in the dean’s office for chucking a cup of holy water in the cruel woman’s face. But nothing had ever been proven, and Dean knew better than to judge a demon by its bitchy persona. So why was Melanie so sure that Ruby was a demon?

Melanie was now confidently chanting an exorcism with her eyes focused intently on Ruby, and Dean couldn’t believe his luck; he’d just had amazing sex, and now Ruby was getting sent back to hell—all before nine o’clock.

“Wait, stop,” Sam shouted as he continued to support a struggling Ruby, and Dean let out a heavy sigh when Melanie hesitated. He’d been so close.

“She’s with us,” Sam said earnestly, and Melanie gaped at him in shock for a moment before she quickly adopted that “you’re an idiot” face again.

“Are you insane?” she cried, and Sam glanced to Dean for help. Dean merely gave him a little shrug in response; he was with Melanie on this one. Sure Ruby had helped them out a few times, but he really was tired of the demon whore and the way she seemed to have his little brother wrapped around her finger. The sooner they got rid of her, the better off they’d all be.

“You have to trust me, she’s helping us. You sending her back to hell will only make things harder,” Sam pleaded, and a moment later Melanie’s eyes were on Dean as well.

Dean hesitated when her brown eyes landed on him. As much as he wanted Ruby gone, this wasn’t his decision. Dean could’ve ganked her ages ago with just a few words of Latin and a devil’s trap. But Sam was right—sort of. Ruby had risked her own hide to save them on multiple occasions. But Dean also knew deep down that trusting a demon was just plain wrong.

He honestly didn’t feel like making the call here, and it only took him a moment to realize that he didn’t have to. Melanie had initiated this exorcising party, so really it was up to her whether Ruby got sent back to hell or not. He wasn’t obligated to get involved if he didn’t want to.

Dean gave a casual shrug of his shoulders in response, plainly telling Melanie that yes, he had dumped all responsibility into her lap.  

Melanie looked from one brother to another, and he watched as her fists clenched and then relaxed as she took a deep breath and finally looked at Ruby. The demon stared back at her with eyes that were still fierce even as she fought to remain conscious, and after a long pause Melanie slumped down onto the bed and threw an arm into the air in defeat.

“Fine, do whatever you want,” Melanie grumbled, and Dean glanced over at Ruby to see her wince in pain once more as she tried to pull the knife out of her chest. Melanie stood and crossed the room, providing Dean with another marvelous view of her rear end, and she pulled the blade from Ruby in one clean tug. The demon pitched forward with a gasp, and Dean felt his nose wrinkle in disapproval as Sam’s face clouded with concern. His little brother, Azezel’s pride and joy, was fawning over a demon like she was some precious gift to the world. He already regretted not encouraging Melanie to finish the bitch.

Dean watched as Ruby stood to her full height again, and the demon gave Melanie one last glare before tossing a plastic bag at Melanie’s feet. Dean hadn’t noticed the bag in her grasp before, and he saw Melanie glance down at it in confusion. Ruby then turned and exited the room without a word, and Sam was left alone in the doorway. He looked from Dean to Melanie and then back again as if there was something he wanted to say, but he seemed to think better of it and hurried after Ruby instead.

The room felt oddly silent after the tension of the last few minutes, and Dean listened to the click of the door closing once more followed by the rustle of the plastic bag as Melanie lifted it from the ground. She didn’t look at him as she returned to the bed, but merely dropped the bag next to the nightstand before laying horizontally across the bottom of the mattress. He glanced down to see fabric and denim stuffed into the plastic bag, and his lips spread into a slightly confused smile at the thought of Sam and Ruby shopping for more suitable clothes for Melanie. He could just picture the two of them arguing over which color sweater to buy her, lilac or apricot; his brother always had been quite a pansy.   

Melanie let out a heavy sigh, and when Dena looked over at her he felt a jolt of arousal as he noticed that she no longer bothered to keep herself covered by the sheet. The fabric had slid away to reveal the tops of her breasts, and when she stretched her arms high over her head and the material shifted again to reveal just a hint of nipple. Dean could feel his breath shorten as he watched her, and it took him a moment to realize that her gaze now rested on him.

“Working with demons? Really? You are so much stupider than you look,” she told him with a disapproving frown. But although her voice reflected frustration and annoyance, he detected a considerable amount of amusement there too. Dean repeated the same shrug he’d given her earlier, and she rolled her eyes rather dramatically. Dean felt a smile twitch at his lips at her response.

“I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her with my arms tied behind my back,” he told her seriously a moment later, and Melanie’s expression sobered. “But Sam seems to think she’s on our side, and she has saved our asses more than once.”

“But it isn’t right,” Melanie insisted, and Dean felt his conscience shout in agreement. “I mean I thought we were supposed to be on the side of the angels?” she added a moment later with a frown, and Dean felt something nag at his gut. He’d been thinking for some time now that maybe the angels weren’t all that much better than the demons. But Melanie sounded so disappointed and conflicted, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to voice his opinion. She seemed to see things in a way he couldn’t, to find goodness when he could only see despair, and Dean wasn’t eager to ruin that. So he kept his cynical ideas to himself and didn’t respond.

“Whatever,” Melanie sighed after a few minutes of silence as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. The sheet slipped down onto her stomach, leaving her chest fully exposed, and Dean’s fingers twitched as his tongue suddenly felt restless in his mouth.

“I won’t send her back to hell, but don’t expect me to play nice if she shows up again,” she told him as she rolled off of the bed and picked up the plastic bag Ruby had given her. Dean’s desires were momentarily pushed aside as he laughed at her comment, and a fond smile remained on his lips even after his laughter faded away and Melanie entered the bathroom.

Dean lay back on the mattress with his hands folded behind his head, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of the shower starting up in the bathroom. But a moment later the sound was gone, replaced by the rustling of leaves in a chilly breeze. Dean felt a jolt of panic, but his fear quickly receded when he opened his eyes to find Cas standing before him in the motel parking lot.

_Opportunities do not appear by coincidence._

_They are gifts from God, chances to repair_

_Damages done by those who left their mark on the world_

_In blood and suffering._

_But when humans do not appreciate God’s charity_

_They are burdened with an endowment far worse in nature._

_*~*~*~*~*_

Dean awoke with a heavy groan, stretching his arms high above his head as he flexed his feet. He let out a sigh as his muscles relaxed, and he wiggled his toes as he lay sprawled out on the sheets. He heard a distinct snort from across the room, and he lifted his head to see Sam seated at the table with an expression stuck somewhere between pity and amusement.

Dean didn’t bother moving as he glanced around the room, and he noticed that Ruby had thankfully decided not to make another appearance. He knew better than to ask where the demon had run off to—and even if his brother stopped being so secretive and actually decided to give him a straight and honest answer, Dean really didn’t want to know what Ruby got up to in her free time.

The flimsy door to the bathroom creaked open, and Dean turned towards the noise just in time to see Melanie exit the bathroom. She ran a brush through her damp hair, the strands turned a light brown by the water, and she wore an indigo long-sleeved  shirt with clingy material that showed off her curves quite nicely. Her body was still wet in some areas from her shower, and Dean’s eyes lingered on the damp patches of fabric scattered over her stomach. He imagined that the spots had been left there by his tongue pressing against her, and his mind was filled with images of him sucking at her abdomen through the thin material as her newly un-bandaged fingers slid through his hair.

Dean forced himself to stop staring at her shirt, but his eyes immediately made their way down to her jeans instead. The dark denim closely hugged he hips and thighs, and if it wasn’t for the sound of Melanie clearing her throat Dean was sure his mind would have continued to wander.

She smiled at him, and although her expression was friendly enough Dean was sure the grin he offered in response was completely idiotic. He heard Sam snort again and Melanie’s smile widened as her eyes shone in amusement, and Dean tried in vain to stir up feelings of annoyance as that stupid grin refused to leave his face. But he just felt weird, incredibly strange inside, and he couldn’t seem to make it go away.

Melanie turned away from him a moment later, and Dean’s mind returned to more familiar territory as he noted that her jeans made her ass look unbelievably inviting.

“Are you just going to lie there all day?” Sam’s voice called from across the room, and Dean glared over at his brother as his attention was pulled away from thoughts of watching Melanie slowly push her jeans from her hips to reveal lacy black underwear.

Dean rolled off of the bed and made his way into the bathroom for a quick shower. Once he’d finished washing himself, he made a point of entering the main room again with only a medium sized towel loosely wrapped low around his hips. Melanie looked up at the sound of the door opening, and her lips parted as the brush tumbled from her grip when she caught sight of him. Her eyes scanned his damp body with obvious desire, and the color rose high in her cheeks as her tongue peeked out to slide across her lips.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh, and Dean looked over to see his younger brother looking from him to Melanie and then back again with a slightly disapproving and incredibly uncomfortable frown. Dean loved the way Melanie was looking at him, her fingers twitching and her feet shifting as if she was having to work hard to keep from tackling him. But Sam’s face was priceless, and Dean felt as if he’d gotten a two-in -one deal.

“Really, dude?” Sam asked, and Dean grinned as his brother’s voice came out sounding strained. Sam cleared his throat and looked away from Dean, his lips pursing as he shook his head. “Could you please have a little more decency?” Sam asked, his voice controlled and flat, and Dean made a face at him in response.

“Prude,” he muttered, just to get Sam to glare at him again. He then grabbed his clothes and made his way back to the bathroom, winking at Melanie as he passed.

_Assistance, when asked for,_

_Can mean the difference between_

_Life and death._

_But when offered,_

_Help wrecks only one dire consequence_

_On he who gives himself up_

_For the good of others._


	3. Misogyny

Dean eagerly slid into the booth of the small diner as Sam climbed in after him and Melanie lowered herself into the booth opposite. He took the menu handed to him without hesitation, then quickly scanned the various mouth-watering meals before ordering his breakfast just a few seconds later. The waitress blinked in surprise at his haste, but she wrote down his request for a double order of pancakes, sausage, and eggs, and she promised to put in his order as soon as possible.  Sam took a bit longer to order his oatmeal with a side of fruit once Melanie had put in her request for French toast, and Dean tried to keep from counting down the minutes until his food arrived.

Dean was thankfully distracted from his hunger when Sam endeavored to start up a conversation with Melanie.

“So…tell us about yourself,” Sam said, and Dean held back a pitying sigh. The poor bastard could swindle any woman with those puppy-dog eyes when they were on a job, but Sam was hopeless when it came to actual interactions with the finer sex. Of course, he supposed it was for the best that Sam was completely inept when it came to talking with Melanie—not that he considered his baby brother competition, or that he had a deep-seeded fear of Melanie finding another man more attractive than him. Nothing like that.

Dean took a drink from his orange juice as he waited for Melanie to respond to Sam’s question, and he glanced over at her to see her toss her hair over her shoulder. His brow creased as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward, pushing her breasts together in a not-so-subtle manner that immediately caught Dean’s attention. His eyes flew up to her face to watch her drag her tongue slowly over her lips before she lightly tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, and she blinked at Dean with thick lashes.

“I like being tied up and spanked like a bad girl,” she told Dean in a low voice, and he immediately choked on his juice as he sucked in a lung-full of the tangy liquid. He slammed the glass down on the table as he hacked and coughed, and he glared up at Melanie through watery eyes as she uncrossed her arms and leaned back with a triumphant smile. Sam let out a barking laugh with an expression of amused embarrassment, and Dean gave him the finger without hesitation. He could feel the eyes of the diner’s few inhabitants on him as he struggled to breathe normally again, and he waved away their waitress when she offered him a glass of water in a concerned voice.

Dean took in a heavy breath once he’d finally expelled the liquid from his lungs, but the moment his brain wasn’t focused on keeping him from choking, his mind was filled with the image of Melanie on her elbows and knees with her wrists bound and tied to a headboard. She crouched naked before him as he kneeled behind her and slid a gentle hand up the back of her thigh and over her ass, and she let out an excited gasp when he slapped his palm against her flesh.

Dean placed his napkin across his lap as discreetly as possible in an attempt to hide the evidence of just how much Melanie’s single sentence had affected him. He then cleared his throat as he tried to clear his mind to concentrate on the conversation Sam and Melanie were currently engaged in.

“How did you end up as a hunter?” Sam asked her, and when Melanie shifted her position ever so slightly Dean knew her story would be just as tragic as ever hunter’s tale he’d heard before.

“My dad was a police officer--the first Cuban American police chief in the entire state of Maine," she told them proudly, but her smile seemed bogged down with sadness as she relayed the information.

"Every year he took me with him on the father-son camping trip the precinct had. We always went to the same campsite during the summer, and of course none of us kids ever felt in danger sleeping under the stars surrounded by our cop dads. But on the last night of the trip…I woke up to children screaming and men yelling, and then there were gunshots and this terrible growling noise and just so much blood…”Melanie trailed off for a moment, her eyes distant, but gave a slight shake of her head before continuing on.

“My dad died right in front of me, his throat ripped out as he tried to protect me from the werewolf that attacked our camp. I was sure we were all going to die that night. But then this man appeared out of nowhere and shot the thing right in the heart, then gathered everyone up and took us back into town.  Out of fifteen of us who went on the trip, only six kids and three dads survived.

“The other kids and cops told themselves it was just a wolf attack and managed to believe their own lie, but I refused to let it go—I knew something weird had happened. I’d been fourteen when my dad died, and I spent the next three years researching and learning more about the world of monsters that I’d unceremoniously been thrown into. Once I thought I’d read up enough information on werewolves and gotten enough weapons training from my dad’s cop friends, I told my mom I was going to a friend’s house for the weekend and set out to track and kill the first monster I found.”

Dean let out a grunt of surprise. It wasn’t like most kids to look into that sort of stuff out on their own after they’d lost a loved one like that, let alone try and become a hunter without guidance from someone more experienced. It was a wonder Melanie was still alive after going after a werewolf when the only experience she had had been learned from library books and the internet.

“I was totally unprepared, of course,” Melanie said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, and Dean saw Sam give her a small smile in response. “I would’ve died alone in the woods if it hadn’t been for the same man who’d rescued me the first time bursting through the trees and shooting the thing a few more times than was really necessary. He told me his name was Louie and I could either stick with him and learn how to hunt all the other monsters out there—I hadn’t even known about the existence of creatures other than werewolves—, or I could keep trying to do it on my own and end up somebody’s next meal.

“Louie became my mentor, and when I graduated high school I told my mom and brother that I was taking a police job in Massachusetts. They threw me a party, and everyone joked I'd be the first Cuban American police chief in Massachussetts," she told them with a laugh heavy with nostalgia.

"I kept up the lie for twelve years as Louie and I traveled around the country hunting everything from shape-shifters to djinn, and I even hunted on my own for a while after Louie was killed by a lamia.”

Melanie finished just as the waitress arrived with their food, and although Dean felt a little bad, he couldn’t deny that his attention was now entirely captivated by the platter of edible heaven placed before him.

He ate like a starved animal, Sam casting him looks of barely masked disdain as he scarfed down his meal, but Dean did periodically look up at Melanie just to make sure she was ok. She looked fine of course, eating her food like a normal human being and with only a hint of melancholy, and Dean felt stupid for needlessly having feared that she might sink into some sort of immense depression. He knew recalling her dad and mentor’s deaths couldn’t be pleasant, but she’d had years to deal with it and there was no reason to think she couldn’t handle talking about past tragedies. Melanie was strong—last night she’d been far stronger than him as she’d helped him get over his time in the pit after just climbing out herself. But the knowledge that he didn’t have to worry about her didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

Once they finished eating and their waitress removed their food, Dean leaned back with a content sigh. Of course, before he could really enjoy the weight in his stomach from the copious amount of food he’d just eaten, Sam began questioning Melanie once more.

“So, why’d you sell your soul?” Sam asked, and Melanie blinked at him in surprise as Dean jerked an elbow into his brother’s ribs. It wasn’t like Sam to ignore common courtesy, and it took Dean a moment to realize that perhaps Sam merely didn’t understand the conventions of the whole soul-selling business; just because Dean had been open with his brother about his reasons for pawning off his life didn’t mean everyone would. It was like casually asking someone why they’d given up their baby for adoption; it just wasn’t done.

“It’s none of your damn business,” Dean told his brother harshly, and Sam’s brow creased in confusion before it dawned at him that perhaps his question had been rather intrusive.

“No, it’s alright,” Melanie told Dean with a sad smile, and he felt a pull of protectiveness and something else suspiciously akin to affection. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and Dean found himself thinking that he would’ve given anything to go back in time and keep Melanie from selling her soul. He didn’t push away the thought because, oddly enough, the urge didn’t seem strange to him, and he felt no desire to deny it. He would’ve endured another three decades on the rack, being tortured day in and day out, if it meant Melanie would never have ventured down into the pit.

“I’m not ashamed of why I did it,” she added, and Dean felt a punch of dread as she implied that she hadn’t done it for money or success but for something meaningful. Dean felt bad enough already for having tortured her, and the knowledge that he’d been hurting a genuinely good person, someone who’d sacrificed themselves for the good of another, only made him feel all the more like a monster.

“My baby brother Joseph got diagnosed with terminal brain cancer when he was seventeen,” she told them, and Dean clenched his fists as he held back a groan; it was even worse than he’d thought—she’d given herself up to save her baby brother.

“He was just so young when they found the tumor. My baby brother, who I’d always known would be safe at home with my mom as long as I killed everything that could ever hurt him, was in danger of dying from something I couldn’t kill. When I found out, I stopped hunting and moved back in with him and my mom. I…I knew I couldn’t just sit there and watch Joseph get progressively worse as my mom and I lost another person we loved more than anything else in the world.  

“So I found a crossroads demon and asked for my brother’s good health and ten years to spend with him. His cancer made me realize that I couldn’t keep taking out my anger about my father’s death in the form of hunting—I had to spend time with what family I had left before I lost them too. But no matter how hard I bargained, the demon only gave me one year before the hell hounds came,” she finished with a sigh, and Sam and Dean shared a look.

Dean could clearly remember haggling with a crossroads demon for more time with Sam, and being refused because his soul was wanted downstairs. A chill ran up his spine as he wondered if perhaps he and Melanie shared more in common than just their handprint burns and an annoyingly mysterious destiny.

“Do you plan on reconnecting with them? Now that you’re back?” Sam asked, and Dean felt a jolt of panic. Of course he wanted Melanie to be happy and live the life she wanted, but the idea of her leaving after making such a strong and powerful appearance in his life stirred in Dean a very real and very irrational fear. He quickly told himself that it was because if Melanie went back to her family, Dean wouldn’t be able to protect her like he’d promised Cas. He was upset because he didn’t want to let the angel down, not because he wasn’t ready for Melanie to leave.

“I don’t think so,” she told him in a slightly disappointed tone, and Dean held back his relieved sigh. “I mean this whole angel thing seems pretty dangerous, and I wouldn’t want to go back home only to have to leave again. You know, if it doesn’t work out,” she told Sam. Dean felt his stomach clench when it occurred to him that by ‘leave’ she meant die, and his mission to keep her safe became his own as much as it was Cas’s.

“So you’re up for it then? Whatever it is these angels want from us?” Dean asked, and he found himself wishing she’d say no, that she’d rather go somewhere safe where nothing could ever hurt her and she’d never be in harm’s way again. But she was a hunter, clearly a strong-willed one at that, and no amount of ridiculous fantasizing on Dean’s part was going to change that.

“If it saves the entire world then fuck yeah I’m up for it,” she told him with a laugh, and suddenly Dean was smiling as he watched the way her eyes now sparked with life. Her sadness had been pushed aside to make room for that all-too-recognizable thrill of the prospect of danger, and Dean felt a slight giddiness as he watched the way it brightened her entire expression.

“I’ve read Revelations—that shit is scary; if shanking shape-shifters and decapitating vampires is going to keep the apocalypse from happening ,then count me in,” she continued emphatically, and Dean wanted to climb over the table and kiss her— because seeing her so fired up and ready to hunt had him hungry for those lips again. He wasn’t sure when blood-lust had become a turn on for him, but he was beginning to think that anything Melanie did had the potential to provoke a bulge in his pants.

“But if we do somehow manage to save the world from total annihilation,” Melanie said as her expression sobered and she returned her focus to Sam’s question, “I would like to live out the rest of my new life with my family.”

Sam blinked at her change in mood and seemed at a loss for how to respond as he settled for a nod. Dean stared at her, his desire now mixing with what he no longer bothered to deny was affection. Dean resolved then and there that he was going to get Melanie through this mess alive, no matter the cost; he would make up for what he’d done to her and give her the happiness she deserved, even if it killed him.

_Emotions often stand in the way,_

_Like roadblocks impeding the path of destiny._

_Passion is the biggest roadblock them all,_

_Obstructing the way forward_

_Until the proper trail looks impassable_

_And the alternate route,_

_Towards the monsters that surely lie in wait,_

_Is more appealing than the pain of fate._

* * *

 

The insistent buzzing of Sam's phone jarred Melanie from her musings about the current state of her family as she stared across the diner at a mother and son sharing a late-morning breakfast. But she still found herself wondering if Joseph had started getting his college acceptance letters in the mail yet, or if her mom's small vegetable garden was doing alright after the recent drought she'd overheard two men discussing upon entering the diner. 

It had only been two months since she’d seen them last, since she’d spent that wonderful year back in the company of her ‘miraculously healed’ brother and her overwhelmingly joyful mother. But Melanie felt as if she’d spent an entire lifetime alone and without a shred of love, and the pangs of nostalgia and homesickness she currently felt were almost too sharp to ignore. Almost.

Melanie had dealt with loss and pain all her life, and now that she’d been brought back to ensure that her family and the rest of the world stayed safe, she wasn’t going to let melancholy get in the way. She had a job to do, and no amount of longing to help Joseph pick his future university or to water tomatoes with her mother on Sunday mornings was going to dissuade her from doing her duty.

She watched as Sam twisted in his seat, and Dean let out a grunt of annoyance when his younger brother elbowed him in the stomach as he endeavored to extract his phone from his jeans pocket.

“Hey Bobby, what’s up?” Sam asked the moment he answered the phone, and although Melanie had hoped to gain information about the call by listening in on Sam’s side of the conversation, this mysterious Bobby figure seemed to do most of the talking.

“Alright, we’ll look into it,” Sam finished a few moments later, and Dean and Melanie both watched him expectantly as he pocketed his phone.

“Bobby thinks he might’ve found us a job,” Sam told them, and Melanie took a calming breath as she tried not to get too excited about the prospect of hunting again; but after spending twenty years being helplessly tortured at the hands of others, she was more than ready to take out her frustration on evil sons of bitches. And protect innocent lives too, of course.

She glanced over at Dean, hoping to see a milder version of her own excitement mirrored in his expression, but she was met with disappointment as she took in his furrowed brow and noticed the way his eyes seemed reluctant to meet hers.

“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Dean told her, and he phrased his words in the form of a timid suggestion as he scratched at the back of his head in discomfort. Melanie gaped at him in disbelief for a moment before defiantly crossing her arms over her chest.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hunt,” she challenged. Dean knew she was an experienced hunter—she’d just told him so for Christ’s sake— and she could tell he could relate to her need to take out all of her pent-up rage on a few wrathful monsters. So either he was a sexist idiot who’d soon end up with a bloody nose, or those secrets Uriel had warned her about were making an appearance sooner than she would have liked. The latter option made Melanie’s stomach curdle and sent her skin crawling, so she supposed sexist pig would have to do unless Dean came up with a better explanation.

Infuriatingly enough, Dean looked entirely caught off guard by her challenge, and didn’t seem to have any reason at all for contesting her desire to hunt. But she could practically see the gears turning in his brain as he quickly conjured up an argument.

“I just don’t think you should be running around killing ghouls and ghosts when you’ve just dragged yourself out of hell and haven’t had a chance to…to recuperate!”  Dean said vehemently, throwing all his weight behind his one flimsy argument.

“You didn’t really just sit back and relax after you climbed out,” Sam remarked with a frown over at his brother. Dean opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but Melanie jumped back into the conversation before he could.

“Don’t you dare say that was different,” she warned, and Dean’s mouth snapped shut with a pout that would have been adorable under any other circumstance.

If anything, based on last night’s conversation Melanie was definitely more emotionally stable than Dean had been when he’d emerged from hell. But she knew better than to use his vulnerability against him, especially when she’d just managed to convince him to stop focusing on the whole ordeal.

“I’m fine and I want to hunt,” she told him definitively, and Dean looked as if he desperately wanted to protest. But he didn’t seem to be able to come up with any other reason as to why they should prohibit Melanie from hunting.

He mumbled a begrudging agreement, and Melanie frowned over at him as she tried to figure out exactly why he’d fought so hard to keep her out of the hunting party. Sam clearly saw nothing wrong with her joining them, so why had Dean fought so strongly—and illogically—against it? Uriel’s warning about Dean keeping secrets was looking more plausible by the moment.

“So, what’s the job?” Dean asked in a tired voice a moment later. He heaved a weary sigh as he ran a hand over his face before turning to his brother with a complacent smile.

Sam hesitated for a moment, looking from Melanie to Dean and then back again as if trying to gauge whether or not it was safe to proceed. When Melanie gave a small encouraging nod of her head, he shifted slightly in his seat and relayed Bobby’s information.

“Apparently there’s a town not too far from here where no one’s died in the past eleven days,” he said, and Melanie’s brow creased at the unexpected oddity of his words. In the past her jobs had always involved people dying— alone, in pairs, or even in troves— and while Louie had mentioned one or two fake healers who’d used nefarious means to cure diseases, Melanie had never actually encountered anything like it herself.

“No one’s died? In the whole town?” she asked for clarification, and Sam shook his head with a slight frown.

“Weird, right?” he asked, and Dean gave a casual shrug in response.

“Well maybe they’re all finally learning to get along,” Dean quipped with a mockingly sunny smile.

“Yeah with the apocalypse looming in the distance I’m sure that’s the answer; people are always just so kind when faced with the threat of mass annihilation,” she told him rather harshly, and Dean visibly jerked back a bit in his seat at her words.

Sam’s gaze immediately flew down to study the paid bill the waitress had yet to pick up from the table as an awkward silence followed. Melanie felt bad for her snappy tone as Dean continued to stare at her with wide eyes, but it was Dean’s persistent conviction that she wasn’t meant to fight—and his inability to come up with a good reason for it—that had put her in such a testy mood in the first place. She supposed he was actually rather deserving of a few rough words.

Melanie was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and the idea that Dean seemed to find her unequipped or thought she lacked what was necessary to get the job done really irked her. She’d been the one comforting him the night before— after she’d just climbed out of hell herself—and he had absolutely no right to tell her that he was ok to hunt but that it was too dangerous or manly or whatever for her to get involved.

Sam hesitantly glanced back up at the two of them, and Melanie forced herself to simmer down and stop glaring at Dean as it occurred to her that perhaps Sam hadn’t finished explaining the job.

“It’s also weird because people have mysteriously survived things that should’ve been fatal, like terminal cancer and gun shots. So it’s not just that everyone gets to keep on living their healthy safe lives, but that this whole town has actively been cheating death for the past twelve days.”

“I guess we should check it out then,” Dean said with another heavy sigh, and although Melanie’s annoyance had definitely not subsided, she did feel a flicker of concern as she noted Dean’s weary and exhausted manor. She knew he was doing his best to keep up appearances, but something heavy was weighing on him and if she hadn’t been so busy mentally kicking his ass she would’ve offered that he confide in her.

But as they stood to leave the diner and Melanie shrugged on her jacket, she decided that if Dean was going to try to ‘protect’ her—because when it came right down to it what else could possibly have motivated him to fight so strongly against her hunting?—then she would leave him to protect himself as well when it came to matters of the heart and soul.  

_The roles were assigned long ago_

_For parts that fit like lock and key._

_But when the actors become directors_

_In the production of their own little lives_

_The entire plot jumbles,_

_Themes are lost,_

_And sometimes_

_The invulnerable hero dies._

* * *

Dean glared straight ahead at the long highway stretched out before him as his grip compulsively tightened and relaxed on the steering wheel. He found himself wishing the town of the undead was at least a few hundred miles away, if only to give him more time to think; the minute the engine stopped his mind would be clouded with thoughts about the job, but as long as he was here on the open road his mind was free to wander.

Dean glanced at Melanie in the rearview mirror, and he winced when he caught sight of her scowling out of the window with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. He turned back to the road with a heavy sigh, still just as lost and conflicted as he’d been back at the diner.

Dean desperately wanted to be someone Melanie could trust and rely on, rather than just another hunter she’d fucked. He knew it didn’t make any sense for him to try so hard to please her, seeing as he’d never before acted with the express goal of making someone outside of his family happy, and he and Melanie didn’t even really know each other. He also knew it was ridiculously sappy and stupid for him to think and act this way, but that knowledge didn’t change anything.

Dean had hoped that this odd connection wasn’t one-sided, that maybe deep down she felt like she could count on him to be there for her; but judging by her current mood, Melanie didn’t even want to breathe the same air as him, let alone put her life in his hands.  He knew that lying to her was of course not the best way to get her to feel like she could rely on him, but the last thing Dean wanted to do was tell her what Cas had said about keeping her safe and hidden.

If Cas had specifically instructed Dean to look after Melanie, then that could only mean that someone or something particularly dangerous was after her. And after what Dean had done to her, he felt responsible for her— like it was his duty to make sure she could live her life with as little worry as possible. So telling her that some mystery monster that even had Cas scared was after her definitely wasn’t the way to make her feel safe and cared for.

The knowledge that something was hunting Melanie weighed heavily on Dean, and he was determined to take the full weight of it himself and prevent Melanie from having to deal with it. He was going to keep her safe in the way he’d failed to do down in the pit, even if it meant he’d have to keep the truth hidden from her.

As Dean pulled up to the next motel on a long, never-ending line of temporary residences, he decided that he’d made the right call back at the diner. He hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough reason for Melanie to sit on the sidelines rather than hunt, seeing as he couldn’t have explained his reasons without giving away the very secret he was determined to keep.

But, at least for now, he supposed he could live with her being furious with him as long as he could continue to make up for what he’d done to her.

*~*~*~*~

Dean jogged out of the motel doors once he’d finished checking them in, walking a few yards down the sidewalk until he stood beside his brother. Melanie made a point of not letting her eyes drift in his direction for even a second, and Dean wished they could go back to being the way they were just two hours ago, before Cas had dropped in and messed everything up.

She’d openly stared at him then, those brown eyes taking in everything at once as she’d  watched him like he was the first good thing to enter her life in far too long.

And now she wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence.

“Alright, we should probably split up these interviews so we can get them done faster,” Sam said after glancing from Melanie to Dean and then back again in that way that drew attention to the tension and instantly made the entire situation all the more awkward.

“Sounds good. I’ll take the cancer survivor,” Melanie said the moment he’d finished speaking. She offered a forced smile that didn’t reach her eyes a moment later, as if trying to downplay her eagerness.

Dean frowned at her odd response, seeing as just a few minutes ago she’d been perfectly fine with making her displeasure apparent for the whole world to see. It took him a moment, but he was glad he hadn’t asked her about her sudden change in mood when he remembered that her little brother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer just like the guy she seemed so intent on interviewing.

Melanie probably felt as if she had to prove to them that she was ok, that she wouldn’t get too attached or involved in the case, so they’d allow her to take the interview. Dean would never have denied her the chance to talk to a man she clearly felt she had some sort of connection with.

But he did wish he could just convince her to sit this one out and avoid the pain that would come with talking with a man who reminded her of the brother she’d given her life to protect but hadn’t seen in twenty years.  Melanie had already been through so much, and she didn’t deserve to ever suffer again.

“Ok, Dean and I will check out the shooting victim,” Sam agreed. He started off down the sidewalk, but turned back with a frown when Dean didn’t follow. “Come on Dean, we actually have to go there to interview him; his house is just down the block,” Sam said, and Dean ignored his brother’s teasing tone.  

“Maybe you shouldn’t go alone,” Dean told Melanie after a moment of hesitation. He didn’t want to anger her any further, but the idea of her wandering off alone in this strange town when Cas’s Super Monster was after her deeply unsettled him. If Dean went with her, he could keep her safe and make sure nothing happened to her.

When Melanie stepped towards him with her arms tightly crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed, Dean knew he probably hadn’t chosen the best phrasing. He should have just offered to go with her instead of insinuating that she wasn’t strong enough to handle it on her own. But as she came to a halt with their toes almost touching, Dean knew it was too late to take it back now.

“Do we have a problem, Dean?” she asked, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly as her brows furrowed. She looked as if she’d happily punch him square in the face if he so much as breathed in a way that displeased her.

At least she was looking at him again.

“Nope, no problems here,” Dean told her with a slightly nervous laugh, and she pursed her lips and let out a small hum in mock concentration. God she was intimidating. He thought about taking a step back to put a little distance between himself and those flashing eyes, but he stood his ground.

“Are you sure? Because it seems to me like we do. If there’s something else going on here, something you aren’t telling me about, then I suggest you speak up.” Her voice started out mockingly thoughtful, but quickly transitioned to a harsh demand as she spoke.

She seemed mighty sure of herself, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if someone had told her something that had made her so suspicious. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one getting late-night angel talks…

Now more than ever he was desperate to know who’d pulled Melanie out of hell. If it wasn’t Cas, then who was feeding her the information that had turned her against him?

Either way, Dean was still determined to keep Cas’s Super Monster secret; clearly Melanie knew something was going on but not what, and he was going to keep it that way.

“You know as much as I do about all of this,” Dean told her with a frown, doing his best to sound confused about her obvious implication that he was keeping secrets.

But when Melanie’s face fell and she stepped away from him, Dean knew she’d been able to hear the dishonesty in his words.

He could see a flicker of disappointment in her expression, and the knowledge that she’d probably never trust him now cut him more deeply than it had any right to. He’d lied to scores of people in the past and never felt bad about it—even when he’d lied to Sam it had felt wrong but not painful. This was new, this deep-seated guilt that gnawed at him deep in his core.

But Dean was doing this for her—all of it, the lying and the secrets, was to make up for what he’d done and to keep her safe. So he swallowed his pain and pushed it aside.

“So then what is this? Why won’t you let me do my job?” Melanie asked, her voice calmer and more reserved now, almost closed-off.

Dean wondered if she’d ever let him in again. It seemed as if every passing moment the price of protecting her just increased in painfulness.

“Sorry. It won’t happen again,” Dean told her, not having a clue how else to respond. He couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell the truth, so instead he made a promise he knew he probably couldn’t keep.

Melanie just gave him another look, and Dean felt like digging a hole and burying himself deep underground just to get away from the utter disappointment in her gaze.

“It had better not,” Melanie told him, before turning away and heading off down the sidewalk. Dean watched her go, and he hardly even noticed when Sam lightly bumped him with his elbow. He felt terrible, completely dejected.

All he wanted was to do what was best for her, but it seemed the harder he tried the worse he made the entire situation.

_Like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole_

_Dean pushes and shoves,_

_Cries out in frustration and pain._

_This is not his place, that is not his role_

_And if he continues to play incorrectly_

_He might break the entire game._

* * *

 

Melanie walked down the sidewalk with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her back slightly hunched despite the absence of even the slightest chill or breeze in the air. She’d just spent the past thirty minutes talking with a man who was convinced he’d been cured of cancer in order to continue God’s work, and his jovial attitude had brought on a dread for what would happen when she and the Winchesters returned the town to its natural order.

The man, Scott Parker, had spent his entire life running a national network of orphanages that focused on providing the best and most nourishing care to orphans, from organizing field trips to the zoo for the children to assisting the teens with college applications. Now that Parker had cheated death, he and his wife could continue to improve the lives of thousands of children.

 

When Melanie had arrived at Parker’s house, she’d found it empty—upon further investigation, she’d located him in the organization’s main headquarters, where he, his wife, and a number of kids had been setting up for the charity’s 20th anniversary party. Parker and his wife had gushed about God’s greatness and mercy, but they’d assured her that they “hadn’t consulted any crack healers who doled out herbs and blasphemed the name of God as they stole money from the sick and dying.”

Melanie had planned on meeting up with the Winchesters back at the motel once she’d finished her interview, and once she entered the building she waited in the lobby for their return. After only about two minutes the boys entered the area, and Melanie turned to Sam as they approached.

“We can rule out fake faith healer,” she told him, thinking of Mrs. Parker’s rather emphatic statement, and Sam sighed.

“It wasn’t a crossroads deal either,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Which leaves…what? Wishing on a star?” Dean asked, and Melanie glared at him. She would have smiled or even laughed had anyone else made the same comment.

Sam glanced from Melanie to Dean with obvious discomfort, clearly sensing the tension between them. Melanie fleetingly considered informing him that his little looks only made things even more uncomfortable for all of them; but luckily Sam decided to speak up before it became too unbearable.

“Maybe you should go get something to eat,” Sam suggested to his brother. “Melanie and I can go back to the room and start trying to figure out what’s going on here,” he continued.

Dean pouted ever so slightly, but when it became clear that he couldn’t possibly refuse without digging himself even farther into the Hole of Sexist Stupidity where he currently resided, he let out a grunt of agreement and exited the hotel.

Melanie gratefully followed Sam outside along a covered hallway to the motel room, thankful to be away from Dean even if only for an hour. She wanted to trust him, to be able to put her faith in him, but he just continued to give her reasons not to. She desperately didn’t want to accept that Uriel was right and that he was keeping secrets, but there could be no denying that he’d lied to her earlier—and if he had nothing to hide, then why lie?

But the purpose of being away from Dean wasn’t to give her more time to think about how infuriating he was, she reminded herself. She pushed aside her thoughts of him as Sam opened the door to the motel room, and she decided to focus her attention on the younger Winchester and the case at hand instead.

“Alright,” Sam said, placing his hands on his hips as he quickly scanned the room. “You can use Dean’s laptop for research; I’ll take the town’s history if you want to look into more recent events,” he offered, pulling a computer from Dean’s bag and setting it on the table before her.

“Sounds good to me,” she replied with a smile as she sat down across from him. She liked Sam, she decided absentmindedly as she waited for the computer to turn on. He was polite and thoughtful, and there was nothing to suggest that he found her incompetent due to her gender.

She glanced up as he opened his own laptop, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of the Redwood tree on the single sticker adorning the top right corner of his laptop.

“You went to Stanford?” Melanie asked, her voice high in disbelief, and Sam blinked at her in surprise before she excitedly pointed at the sticker.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said with a slight laugh, pulling down his computer screen to glance at the sticker. “I guess I never got around to taking that off.”

“Did you like it there?” she practically gushed, and a smile broke across his face so quickly she wondered if he might have somehow pulled a muscle.

“It was fantastic,” he told her vehemently, and she felt a twinge of jealousy as she realized that he was being completely honest. He really had loved the school, and she couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t fair that he could look back on fond memories while all she had were dreams and fantasies that had never come true. She could feel her smile faltering.

“Did you…did you know someone who went there?” Sam asked hesitantly, sensing the change in her mood and realizing that he might now be treading on a touchy subject.

“I had a full ride before my life fell apart,” she told him, her gaze returning to the sticker. “It was my dream school. I was going to go to California and live in the eternal sunshine…I was going to be the first person in my family to graduate with more than a GED. But then after the attack...well that life wasn’t an option for me anymore. I wanted to avenge my dad’s death, and so I guess I gave up on my dream. Instead of accepting the scholarship and making Clarkson history, I spent my college years killing demons and fighting monsters.”

“Which is exactly the life my dad wanted for me,” Sam commented, his tone now slightly bitter, and she looked up to see him frowning at his keyboard.

“He raised Dean and me to be hunters after…after our mom died. I was only a few months old when we lost her, so I’d really never known any other life,” he explained.  Melanie had heard of men indoctrinating their kids as hunters after losing their wives, but the idea of a child only ever having lived in the world of savage monsters saddened and disturbed her. She’d actively  decided to give up her life and avenge her father’s death, but she couldn’t imagine being trapped in such a terrifying world without a choice.

“Dean…Dean fit in perfectly, but I never felt right in the life. As I grew up I wanted more and more to escape the world I felt trapped in. So I ran away from home and went to Stanford,” he explained, and she nodded in understanding. She could see why he’d want to get away, to live the way 99.9% of the planet had the luxury of living.

Melanie fleetingly wondered what could have brought him back to the world he’d left his family to escape, and Sam conveniently addressed her unspoken question a moment later.

“But I learned the hard way that you can never get away from this life, not really. It follows you like a disease even when you think you’ve escaped. If you try to run it will corrupt and destroy everything you hold dear,” he spat, his brows knitted together and his lip curled, and Melanie knew he was speaking from experience.

Something more than his education had been taken from him, and the loss had forced him back into this life. He clearly wasn’t happy about it, but he seemed to believe hunting was now the only option for him. “If you can’t beat ‘em might as well join ‘em right?” he asked, looking up at her with a humorless smile, and although she knew he meant hunters, she couldn’t help but think he must use the same reasoning to justify his collaboration with Ruby.

She offered him a smile in return, not sure of how else to respond, before focusing on her laptop screen. The last thing she wanted to do was focus on how such a kind-hearted boy could be driven to fraternizing with such an evil creature…an evil creature that she hadn’t gone through with exorcising… Melanie gave her head a slight shake, clearing her thoughts.

The background of Dean’s computer was disappointingly standard, but when she opened the internet browser, she was redirected to a rather unusual but not unexpected home page. Sultry music streamed from the small speakers as a page crowded with images of naked women in various compromising positions cluttered the screen, and Sam glanced over at her with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry; apparently Busty Asian Beauties doesn’t have as much helpful information as Dean’s internet history would suggest,” she told him with a smile, and he quickly looked away in embarrassment. Alright so maybe Dean was an idiot, but at least he would have flashed her a cheeky grin and said “that depends on what kind of problem you need help with.” But all Sam did was bury his head in the sand and pretend as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

They spent the next few minutes in silence as they sifted through websites and hunted for useful documents or newspaper articles. Sam didn’t seem to be having much success looking through the town’s history, as every minute or so he’d let out a quiet huff of frustration.

“I’m not finding anything even remotely suspicious,” he lamented twenty minutes later. “Everyone lived and died normally, with no anomalies in the history whatsoever.”

“Heartless bastard,” Melanie muttered to herself, not really listening to Sam as she came upon a list of the deceased in the past year only to find that the archivist had failed to scan and upload the documents.

“Heartless…hold on—maybe no one’s dying because there’s no one to take their souls away.” Sam said, sitting up straighter in his chair as his voice went from despondent to excited in less than a second.

“How would that even work? Like a Reaper taking an extended holiday or something?” she wondered aloud, giving Sam her full attention now.

“I don’t know but it’s the only reason I can think of. Whatever happened would have to be recent, since even three years back everything’s been totally normal in this town. Their documents are pretty hard to get to online though so we might need to make a trip to the—“

“No wait, I think I’ve got something,” Melanie interrupted distractedly, her eyes rapidly scanning the screen before her. Sam’s comment on the event being recent had prompted her to check the online newspaper, where publications from the last three months could be accessed—publications that included obituaries.

“Cole Griffith,” she proclaimed a minute later, turning the laptop so Sam could see the smiling face of the young boy. “He was the last person to actually die here; if we talk to him we might be able to find out what happened and why no one else has followed him into the great beyond. Maybe he saw or heard something weird, something that could point us in the right direction.”

“That’s a great idea,” Sam said, sounding impressed as he nodded. “We should go tonight; does it say where he’s buried?” he asked, coming to stand behind her as she opened another page to scan the county documents.

“I’m pretty sure there’s only one graveyard in the whole—“

“Chow time!” Dean announced as he swung into the room, brandishing a plastic bag as he balanced a cardboard carrier of drinks in his other hand. Melanie watched his eyes narrow ever so slightly when he caught sight of Sam standing close behind her, and the younger Winchester moved away to stand at his full height a moment later.

“Great, what’d you buy?” Sam asked in an obvious attempt to keep Dean’s focus on food.

“Tacos,” he said simply, his tone far less enthusiastic as he took in the two laptops on the table. He looked a bit uncomfortable as he glanced from his computer to Melanie and back, and she fleetingly considered teasing him about his homepage. But she dismissed the idea when she remembered that she’d yet to forgive him for his misogynistic comments.  

“Did you guys find anything?” he asked after a slight pause, pulling a taco from the bag and devouring it in only two bites. He munched with comically stuffed cheeks as he waited for Sam to fill him in.

God Melanie loved watching him eat—it was so bloody amusing how he shoved as much food as could possibly fit, and then a bit more, into his mouth until it was almost a struggle to swallow; it was almost as if he thought the food would disappear if he didn’t get it all into his mouth fast enough.

Of course, as she thought back to what Sam had told her about them growing up in the life, she supposed that at some point that might have been true—perhaps Dean really had learned at an early age that he had to take as much food as possible with every bite because come tomorrow there might not be enough left to feed two growing boys.

“We did; Melanie’s actually quite the investigator,” Sam said with a smile in her direction, and Melanie smiled back at him as she was pulled back to the conversation at hand.  

“Good to know,” Dean muttered darkly as he fished in the bag for another taco, which he ate with noticeably more ferociousness than the last. Sam’s comment had put him in a foul mood, and Melanie pushed away her desire to console him as she reminded herself yet again that she was in fact still angry with him.

“We’re going to the county graveyard later on tonight to talk to Cole Griffith, the last person to die in the town,” Sam continued.  

“Sounds good,” Dean said around a mouth full of taco. He sounded as if he felt a little left out, and Melanie realized he’d probably hoped they wouldn’t have been able to figure anything out without him; the idea that they hadn’t needed him clearly unsettled Dean, and the way he now moodily consumed his third taco supported her analysis.

But that’s what Dean got for being a lying jerk, Melanie told herself as she accepted the taco Sam handed her with another friendly smile.

_The lines between right and wrong_

_Often blur for human eyes_

_But even we who know best can see_

_That deception is not only_

_A tool of the enemy_


	4. Carelessness

"You all good up there?"

Melanie held back a groan of annoyance as Dean called up to her from the bottom of the grave. She’d opted to arrange candles and paint summoning signs as he and Sam labored with their shovels in the dirt, and she’d hoped the strain of digging would keep Dean off her back for at least a little while. Clearly she’d been far too optimistic. 

“Yes Dean, everything’s fine. While it is oh so dangerous up here, I’ve managed to avoid lighting myself on fire as you might expect from someone with the terribly inhibiting handicap of womanhood.”

Melanie set a candle down in the grass with much more force than was necessary as she spoke, but smiled to herself when she heard Sam give a quiet snort.

“Shut up,” she heard Dean mutter under his breath as he and Sam continued to dig.

They carried on in silence for a few minutes before Dean’s shovel hit a solid surface with a thud.

“Showtime,” he called as he and Sam climbed out of the pit, and Melanie tucked the packet of matches she’d been using into her jacket pocket. She’d just begun to chant the summoning to call Cole Griffith, Sam and Dean now standing beside her, when the bright white beam of a flashlight unexpectedly shone in her eyes.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Melanie heard a male voice call from a distance as she tried to blink away her spotty vision.  Something about the approaching man’s voice sounded eerily familiar, like the rumble of a dark creature in a nightmare she couldn’t quite remember…

“We’re uhm…having a late-night memorial service,” Sam offered, shifting to his left in a vain attempt to conceal the large pentagram Melanie had painted in the grass.

“This ain’t no memorial! This is devil worship!” The man insisted, and Melanie rubbed at her eyes as she willed them to see properly. She knew she recognized this man’s voice from somewhere, and if she could just see his face…

But when she did finally catch sight of the man, Melanie found herself wishing she were blind again. His face flickered back and forth from that of a middle-aged man to that of the most disgusting creature she’d ever seen, with void black eye sockets, swollen blistered lips, and soggy grey skin like undried paper-mache layered too thin over a yellowed skull.

She would’ve known that face anywhere.

Melanie drew her blade and threw the knife without hesitation, but the man caught it with ease. His lips spread into that familiar reptilian smile as milky grey slits slid down to cover the eyes of his human face.  

Dean and Sam both tensed beside her, the two of them only now catching onto the fact that they were in the presence of the demon Alastair.

“Good shot sweetheart, but not quite good enough,” Alistair told her, carelessly tossing the blade into the grass even as angry red burns shone on his palm from where he’d held it. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Melanie!” he added, coming closer as he talked. “Sam, Dean, it’s so good to see you too.”

Dean moved to stand in front of Melanie as Alistair approached, and his gesture of protectiveness felt odd and out of place; even though Alistair had always taken a special interest in her, Melanie still felt as if she should have been the one standing in front of Dean. But despite the fact that it went against her every instinct to allow Dean to keep Alistair at bay, she didn’t even consider making him move. Melanie had no desire to be any closer to Alistair’s horrendous face, the face that brought back the very worst memories she had of her time spent in hell.

Alistair took another step forward and Dean took another step back, his hand reaching around to grip Melanie’s wrist as he gave a barely audible growl of warning. She saw the faintest of smiles flicker across Alistair’s face before the demon gave a casual little wave of his hand and Dean was tossed through the air and into the trunk of a tree with a sickening thud.

“Dean!” Melanie cried out in concern, instantly blaming herself for not having moved to stand in front of him as she should have, for not protecting him as she should have. Dean stood up a few moments later with a pained wince and a muffled groan, but Melanie’s relief was short-lived and replaced by a bone-chilling fear when Alistair reached forward to stroke her cheek.

She shivered in disgust and terror as his fingers slid across her skin, his slimy and cold touch calling back that unbearable decade she’d spent with him in hell.

“Oh, did you not tell your new friend about the special time we shared together?” Alistair cooed, leaning forward so that she could smell the rotten-fruit scent of his breath.

“We used to call her the screamer, down in the pit,” he said as he looked over at Dean, his smile widening as he watched the way Dean’s lip curled in disgusted rage.

“But what are you doing back up here, sweetheart?” Alistair asked, his attention now focused on Melanie once again. “Did you miss me so much that when you heard I was topside you came to have some more fun?” His fingers were on her lips now, slowly pushing inside her mouth, and Melanie thought back to the first time he’d touched her like this—how she’d bitten him in retaliation only to have her teeth pulled and her tongue cut out as punishment.

“We could ask you the same thing; I thought you’d been fried extra crispy?” Dean called in an obvious attempt to distract Alistair. Melanie wanted to punch Dean for his comment; Alistair had been entirely focused on her and therefore not on Dean, but now he was putting himself in the line of fire again. She mentally willed Dean to shut up and let her regain Alistair’s attention, but when his fingers left her mouth she knew it was already too late.

“Funny thing about demons: unlike you sorry sacks of meat, we don’t actually need these squishy bags to survive. I just picked up a new suit on the way here and left the ‘crispy’ pediatrician’s on the side of the road somewhere near Milwaukee. His wife is still looking for him. Hilarious right? You humans and your meaningless little ‘relationships’ and ‘emotions’. They’re just weaknesses if you ask me.”

“Yeah well no one asked you,” Sam said, and Melanie felt a bit guilty as the sound of his voice reminded her that there were in fact two Winchester brothers whose lives were in danger.

“Cute,” Alistair told him with a pitying smile, and Sam shifted with a slight frown as if he took the demon’s dismissal personally.

“Well it’s been fun kids, but I’ve got to go; places to be, people to kill—you know the drill,” Alistair told them, and Melanie just barely had time to comprehend his words before she was lifted off her feet and tossed through the air. The wind was knocked from her lungs as she slammed into a tree, and her head bashed against a protruding root when she fell to the ground beside an unconscious Dean.

She let out an involuntary groan in pain, slowly lifting her head to look over at the open grave. Strangely enough, both Sam and Alistair still stood before the circle of candles she’d so carefully set up. Melanie wondered why Alistair hadn’t thrown Sam as well, and she felt a cold chill as she thought back to the way Sam had looked at Ruby; despite all his kind-heartedness, could he possibly be in league with Alistair?

Her suspicions quickly turned to confusion a moment later as Sam tossed Alastair into a tree, a torrent of black smoke exploding from Alistair’s mouth to flood into the night sky. Melanie had just enough time to gape in disbelief before her sight dimmed and she was pulled into darkness.

_While the eyes do in fact hold_

_Windows to the soul_

_Appearances can be tweaked_

_To manipulate the sight of others_

_And change what the soul perceives as real_

* * *

 

Dean sat up with a groan, the dingy hotel room swimming before his eyes as he blinked hard and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. He flinched as Sam entered the room a moment later, the unusually loud sound of the door opening and closing doing nothing to improve his mood.

“Oh hey, you’re awake; you hit your head pretty hard back there,” Sam said as he tossed an ice pack Dean’s way and pulled up a chair beside him.

“Yeah, you hurt?” Dean asked as he placed the cool plastic pack at the nape of his neck, fingering the small cut at the crown of his head. Only a bit of blood, nothing too serious; but Sam looked completely unscathed for someone who’d been chucked head-first into a tree.

“Just a few scrapes here and there, nothing I can’t handle,” Sam said with a casual smile, and Dean felt his fists clench as he listened to his little brother lie to him yet again. Sam could spout falsehoods with such ease it was almost as if he believed his own lies, but Dean could tell—he knew Sam, possibly better than Sam knew himself.

“Where’s Melanie?” Dean asked without warning, looking around the otherwise vacant room. He could clearly remember the way Alistair had touched her, had violated her in a way he had no right to, and the idea that the demon might have gotten to her after Dean had passed out made his blood run cold. She’d been his responsibility, his duty to look after, and now she was missing and he had no idea what—

“Calm down, she’s in the room next door. I just went to check on her, she’s still out.” Sam told him, and Dean leaned back against the pillows, finally allowing himself to relax as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I did a little more research while you were out,” Sam told him, and Dean gestured for him to elaborate.  “Basically, the reapers are being taken by demons so they can kill them tomorrow night to break another seal.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, glancing across the room to the table where Melanie had left her unfinished drink from their meal earlier that evening.

“What is it?” Sam asked, frowning slightly as he followed his brother’s gaze.

“It’s just that bringing Melanie back is supposed to help stop the apocalypse, but it still seems pretty imminent with all this seal breaking going on.”

“It is? I mean you know that for sure?” Sam asked, and Dean nodded with a slight shrug. “Anything else you’d like to share?” Sam asked, and Dean barely held back his urge to shout that he wasn’t the one lying to his brother about some dark demon secret. But he responded as calmly as he could.

“Not really; I mean all Cas said was that I’m supposed to keep her safe and hidden.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t have gotten her into all of this…is that why you were being so weird about her hunting yesterday?” Sam asked, and Dean nodded before he’d fully comprehended Sam’s words.  

“I was not being weird about it,” he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you definitely were,” Sam said with a laugh, and Dean chucked his lukewarm ice pack at his brother’s head. Sam ducked away from it with a grin.

“But seriously, that thing with Alastair was close—let’s send her to Bobby for safekeeping,” Sam suggested, his voice now sober. “We don’t want another demon popping out of the woodwork and carrying her off or something.”

Dean hesitated, glancing down at the worn bedcoverings beneath him. Sam was right of course, but there was something about this whole destiny of theirs that now made Dean wary of sending Melanie to hide far from the battlefront. He of course wanted to keep her safe, but he was beginning to think that without her help, stopping the apocalypse would be impossible; some angel had brought her back for a reason after all.

“But what if…what if she’s somehow stronger or something?” Dean asked, thinking aloud, and he realized his words needed a little more explanation when Sam cast him a confused glance. “I mean, what if we’re only supposed to keep her hidden so the demons can’t get a hold of her because she’s the solution to all of this?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Sam said, his brow furrowed as he put his thinking cap on. “It would explain why the angels would want to protect her. But keeping her out in the open doesn’t really seem like the best way to go about keeping her safe...”

“But what if she’s supposed to help us keep the seals from breaking? What if this is how we stop the apocalypse?” Dean asked, his voice rising in excitement as he talked; the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. “We haven’t been able to stop a single one yet, we’ve failed every time, but with her help we could finally have the advantage!”

Sam still looked a bit wary as he considered Dean’s argument, but Dean could tell he was close to winning him over.

“I mean hate the idea of putting her in danger, and the idea of her getting hurt scares me more than anything,” Dean admitted, and Sam looked up at him a knowing smile. “Shut up,” Dean muttered, trying his best to hold back an idiotic smile of his own as Sam waggled his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry Dean, I’ve seen how much you care about her; I’ve seen the way you practically swoon whenever she—”

“Shut up,” Dean repeated, slamming a pillow into Sam’s arm as his face burned in embarrassment. “I do not swoon; mooning over girls like a pansy has always been your specialty, not mine.”

“Not being afraid of embracing your emotions doesn’t make you a pansy, Dean.”

“Just talking like that makes you a pansy, dude.”                                                              

“Yeah whatever,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes. “So you really think Melanie should stay here with us?” Sam asked a moment later, bringing the conversation back on track.

“Yeah. I mean unless you’ve got any other secret weapons capable of stopping demons tucked away somewhere,” Dean joked.  

Dean frowned at his brother in confusion as Sam actually seemed to hesitate like he was considering whether or not he should let Dean in on some top-secret knowledge he had. But Sam smiled a moment later, standing up as if nothing had happened, and Dean felt a shiver run up his spine. Jesus, what was his little brother hiding?

Sam hadn’t been knocked out by Alistair’s human-baseball pitching practice, and now he was getting all squirrely at the mention of anti-demon powers…Dean knew Sam had been able to exorcise demons with his psychic powers, and he doubted Sam had really stopped the practice despite the fact that he’d promised to. But the idea of Sam being able to take on a demon as powerful as Alistair—and then lie about it—made Dean incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hm. I didn’t think you’d be willing to put the job first this time, but clearly I was wrong. Maybe you aren’t as weak as I thought,” Sam muttered to himself as he moved across the room, and Dean gaped in disbelief as he realized exactly what Sam had just said.

“I’m gonna go check on Melanie again,” Sam told him from the door, clearly not having realized that Dean had heard his muttered speech. Dean could only stare as Sam exited the room with an ice pack in tow.

His brother was only ‘stronger’ because he’d been infected with demon’s blood as a baby, so the fact that Dean’s status as a normal human being somehow made him ‘weak’ really rubbed him the wrong way. If that was how Sam saw humanity, he was in serious need of some new perspective.  Besides, if putting Melanie in danger somehow made him stronger in Sam’s eyes, Dean wasn’t sure he had a problem with being weak.

_Moving in the right direction_

_Keeps the train from hurtling from the rails_

_But when the passengers take hold of the controls_

_With no driving knowledge whatsoever_

_Collateral damage becomes inevitable_

* * *

Melanie took a deep breath as she stumbled forward, her hand reaching out to grip a lamppost for support, only to have her fingers push right through the metal as if moving through empty air. She stared down at her hand with wide eyes, then glanced over to see Dean grinning with his arm penetrating Sam’s chest.

“Please get your hand out of my ribcage,” Sam told his brother, his face twisted in discomfort, and Dean hesitated for a moment before pulling out his arm with a roll of his eyes.

“Prude,” Melanie heard him mutter as he moved across the street, and she smiled to herself as she and Sam followed him.

The air now had a distinct chill that hadn’t been present before, and everything seemed to have an odd blue tint, as if she was looking at the world through one lens of a pair of 3D glasses. It was strange, walking down the same street she’d traveled just an hour before, only now on a different plane; that is what Pamela had called it, she was pretty sure: another plane of the same world, like an overlapping parallel universe but…not.

Melanie still didn’t quite understand it, but she figured she didn’t really need to in order to get the job done. Of course, Pamela hadn’t really had much faith they’d be able to succeed at all, which wasn’t too encouraging seeing as the blind seer claimed to be the expert on all things spiritual.

When Pamela had asked about the specifics of their plan to rescue the reapers, both Winchesters had looked to Melanie as if they expected her to hold all the answers to their problems. She of course hadn’t known anything more than the two of them, and Melanie got the feeling that just like the angels, the two brothers had some sort of ulterior motive or secret agenda of their own. Neither the Winchesters nor the celestial beings were willing to tell her exactly what they wanted her to fix, but they were all still perfectly content with dumping all responsibility on her shoulders.

As they walked through the blue-tinted streets in search of Cole Griffith’s house, all Melanie could think about was how much she hated all these secret glances and whispered conversations and constantly being left in the dark. She was surrounded on all sides by secrets and barely concealed mistrust, and it made her feel like she constantly had to be on edge, like she always had to watch her back.

She supposed it wouldn’t even have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that she knew deep down, almost like some sort of primitive instinct, that she should have been able to trust Dean to look out for her, to relieve the stress by being someone she could depend on. But even he was keeping secrets, and so she really was completely alone in this.  

Dean thankfully seemed to have given up on trying to protect her, as he’d held back any protests he might have had about Melanie entering the spirit world to battle their least favorite demon. She wasn’t quite sure what had changed his mind, or what had instigated his misogyny in the first place, but she decided not to dwell on it; even if she couldn’t trust him implicitly, at least she no longer had to force herself to hate him.

Melanie was jarred from her thoughts when Dean purposefully came to a stop on the sidewalk just in front of Sam, forcing his younger brother to walk straight through him.

“Dude!” Sam cried, wiping at his arms and torso in disgust as Dean doubled over in laughter. A laugh bubbled up from within Melanie as Sam made a face and gave a little shiver, and Dean looked up at her in surprise as his mirth caught in his throat. She smiled at him as he stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but his shock slowly morphed into delight as he seemed to realize that he’d managed to get into her good graces again.

Sam grumbled as he continued off down the sidewalk, but Melanie hardly noticed him as Dean stood to his full height and took a step towards her. His eyes now glowed with a darker tint she most definitely recognized, and she felt her heartbeat spike as his gaze drifted down to her mouth and he continued to approach.

Good god, was he really about to kiss her? Right here, right now, in the middle of the sidewalk, during a job, while they were completely unarmed, in the spirit world of all places? Would she even be able to feel the warmth of his touch, or would it be more like the faint dust of a snowflake quickly melting on her lips?

But the more Melanie thought of how ridiculous it would be for him to kiss her, the more she wanted him to. She’d wasted so much of her energy on trying to dislike him, when there were plenty of more pleasant thoughts and actions she should have been focused on…

“Hey, here it is!” Sam called from farther down the sidewalk, and Melanie and Dean quickly moved away from each other to hurry towards the house Sam currently stood before.

Melanie fell back behind the brothers as they entered the house, and she could have sworn she saw Sam give Dean a smug look before his brother elbowed him in the side and muttered “shut up” with a barely concealed grin of his own.

As they climbed the main staircase Melanie tried to decide exactly how she felt about Sam clearly teasing Dean about her while she was literally standing right behind them. But before she could come to a decision, the distressed voice of a woman sounded from the slightly ajar bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Five minutes later Melanie was seated at the Griffith kitchen table, listening to a twelve year old ghost-boy describe how he’d died while his frazzled and most likely depressed mother wandered the house calling out for her son.

“When I realized what was happening I tried calling out for my mom, but it was already too late,” Cole explained as he stared down at his hands clasped in his lap, and Melanie wished she could at least give his shoulder a comforting pat without her hand gliding right through him.

“What happened next, Cole?” Sam asked gently, leaning forward across the table.

“This old guy showed up and told me I had to come with him, otherwise I’d be stuck here forever. So I told him to get out because I wanted to stay. I couldn’t leave my mom here all alone; she needs me.”

“This old guy…did you make him go away? Is that why you’re still here?” Melanie asked, and Cole frowned over at her with a shake of his head.

“No, I tried to make him leave but he wouldn’t. Then this…this black smoke showed up and I thought it was coming for me, to take me away. So I ran and hid in the closet, and when I came out the old guy was gone.”

Melanie watched as Sam and Dean shared a glance, and she could tell they were trying to come up with the next step in their rather undetailed plan now that their theory had been confirmed. She wondered what they would come up with, seeing as they apparently seemed to think she was the key to all of this.

“Do you know where the black smoke went?” Dean asked, and Cole gave a nod, opening his mouth to reply just as the lights began to flicker and his mother let out a cry from the other room.

“They’re back!” Cole cried, and Melanie let out a huff of frustration as her calming hand on his shoulder slid right through him.

“Who’s back? What’s going on?” Dean demanded, but Cole vanished into thin air without any further explanation.  

“It must be another reaper,” Sam reasoned, leaping from his seat to tear off down the hallway, and Melanie and Dean quickly followed. They came to a halt beside Sam in the foyer, an unfamiliar woman blocking their path at the top of the stairs.

“Hello Dean,” the woman said with a smile and a slight toss of her dark hair. She completely ignored Melanie and Sam, and Melanie instantly felt her fists clench at her sides. Luckily for him, Dean didn’t seem to have a clue who this flirtatious stranger was, and he merely frowned up at her in confusion.

“What, you don’t remember me? And here I was, thinking I’d been your favorite reaper,” she said with a slight pout as she descended the stairs, and Melanie wanted nothing more than to slam a fist into those glossy pink lips of hers. How was it that all other reapers had to suffer through looking like old geezers while she got to prance around like some sort of sexy librarian fantasy come to life? And what did she mean, Dean’s favorite?

“If I had a nickel for every time I’d heard a girl say that…” Dean joked with a smile of his own as he watched the woman enter the living room. “Maybe you could refresh my memory?” he asked as he followed behind, and Melanie stared at him in disbelief;  but she hardly had time to be offended or infuriated—or a combination of the two— by his comment before she was struck with a rage unlike any she’d ever known as Tessa kissed Dean directly on the mouth.

And lo and behold, the moment the horny reaper broke the kiss, Dean seemed perfectly capable of remembering everything about her, as if kissing her was just so fucking spectacular that he couldn’t possibly have forgotten something like that, even though he’d apparently done away with his memories of every other woman in his life. He now knew her name—Tessa, a skanky name if Melanie had ever heard one—, how they’d met, where he’d seen her last, hell, he probably even remembered her favorite flavor of ice cream and how she hated mushrooms on her pizza because she was just that fucking special to him.

Dean glanced over at Melanie as Tessa stepped away from him, and Melanie glared at him, doing her best to transfer all her anger through her gaze. She wished the angels had equipped her with the ability to incinerate douchebags like Dean with laser vision.

Dean gave her a teasing smile, and she supposed she could merely settle for bashing his face in until her laser abilities kicked in.

“Don’t worry, there’s still plenty left to go around,” Dean told her with a wink, and Melanie had never before wanted so strongly to rip off another person’s head and use it as a bowling ball with their torn off limbs as the pins.

“What, you jealous?” he asked, apparently just now picking up on her fury, and Melanie knew that if she spent another moment in his presence she would make good on her silent threats and actually cause him serious bodily harm.

“Fuck off,” she spat instead of brutally mangling him, and she stomped off to join Cole’s sobbing mom in the kitchen if only to get away from this maddening asshat Uriel had left her with.

_Carelessness and thoughtfulness_

_Often seen as opposites_

_Both stand as the greatest danger_

_To our noble cause._

_He must act with more care for her_

_And she less skepticism towards him_

_If ever we are to succeed._

* * *

Dean pursed his lips in frustration as he watched Melanie exit the living room, mentally kicking himself for giving her yet another reason to hate him just when he’d started to get on her good side again. He’d understood just a second too late, the moment the offensive words had left his mouth, that Melanie being upset about Tessa kissing him wasn’t something to poke fun at.

In fact, he now realized as he noted how empty the room felt now that Melanie had left, it was sort of nice to know that someone cared enough about him to be jealous in the first place. She hadn’t just brushed it off in the way she would have if she didn’t feel at least something for him, Dean reasoned. But of course he’d gone and done the stupid thing, pushing her away before he stopped to think that maybe it was a sign that she wanted to pull him closer.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on Cole,” Sam said with a gesture over his shoulder as he backed towards the stairs, and Dean didn’t even bother acknowledging his brother as he exited the room.

“Don’t get too cozy,” Tessa called, and Dean frowned over at her. “I’m coming back for the kid first once all this demon stuff gets sorted out,” she explained, and Dean felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut at her words.

“Wait you know about that? About the demons?” Sam asked from the third stair, and Tessa gave a humorless laugh.

“Of course I do; my partner gets kidnapped and you think I just don’t notice?”

“Well then what’re you doing here? Trying to get kidnapped yourself?” Dean asked, his words coming out a bit harsher than necessary. He knew he couldn’t really blame her for what had just happened with Melanie, but he was angry with himself and taking it out on a self-righteous reaper was proving to be the perfect outlet.

“No Dean, I was trying to finish the job,” she told him in a patronizing tone, and he shifted his feet.

“So you’re saying your buddy gets kidnapped by a demon and your first thought is to come back to the same place and try and take some kid away from his mom?” Dean asked incredulously, and Tessa merely nodded after a slight pause.

“How’re you going to get him to tell you where they’re keeping my partner?” Tessa called, her attention focused on Sam once more. “He knows you’re with me, he’s not going to help you,” she told him, and Dean turned to see Sam give her a little shrug.

“I’ll say whatever I need to to get him to trust me,” Sam said simply, and Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you’re going to lie. To a kid. Tell him he’ll get to stay here with mommy if he helps you, when in reality a few hours from now Final Destination over here is gonna take him away forever?”

Sam watched Dean for a moment, seeming to think it over, before he nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Jesus man, what is wrong with you? Do you even listen to yourself anymore?” Dean asked, and Sam gripped the railing in earnest.

“He’s a spirit, Dean. He belongs on the other side.”

“Says who?” Dean demanded, and Sam balked.

“Says nature, Dean! This is the way it’s supposed to be! He’s got to cross over eventually, so he might as well help us before he does.” With that Sam jogged up the stairs, leaving Dean to stare at the spot where he’d just stood.

“You know, a few months ago he would’ve fought tooth and nail to find a way to save that kid. Now it’s almost like he wants to be the bad guy,” Dean said quietly, not sure whether he was talking to Tessa or himself.

“Or maybe he’s finally learned that sometimes doing the right thing comes with a price,” Tessa said, and Dean turned to look at her. “You don’t have to make it seem so cruel. He’s right; it’s just the natural order of things.”

“But it doesn’t have to be, does it? I mean what if this is the kid’s second chance? Like, you know…”

“Like what? A miracle?” Tessa asked, a hint of mocking laughter in her voice. “Don’t tell me you believe in fairy tales now, Dean. I’d pegged you as one of the sharper tools in the shed but maybe I was wrong…”

“I’m just saying this might be one job you don’t have to finish,” Dean said with a shrug, and Tessa crossed her arms over her chest.

“No, what you’re saying is that I should let this kid stay here and literally drive his mom to insanity until he turns vengeful and hurts her, his dad, and who knows how many other people,” Tessa told him, and Dean let out a heavy sigh.

Everything she’d said was true, of course, but something about this whole thing just felt so wrong to him. Dean himself had been raised from hell and brought back to life, and it didn’t seem fair that he’d been given the second chance he was now helping Tessa and Sam deny to others. What made him so special?

“Ok so maybe you can’t save the kid,” Dean reasoned, knowing only too well what happened when vengeful spirits were left to fester. “But all the other people in this town—the ones who are actually alive, who really did cheat death—can’t you at least give them a pass? Let them keep living their lives?”

Tessa didn’t respond for a few seconds, instead uncrossing her arms and looking towards the ceiling as if searching the off-white paint for patience.

“I really didn’t want to believe it, but I guess it’s kind of undeniable now. Somehow, someone’s managed to get it into your head that ‘second chances’ are actually a good thing. There’s a reason we reapers tell people they should cross over Dean, and it isn’t because we’ve got a monthly quota.”

Dean let out another heavy sigh as Tessa’s words sunk in, taking a second to think before he answered her.

“If you’d said that to me a week ago, I would’ve agreed without hesitation. Living through that year after my dad brought me back, going through all that pain—losing him, losing Sam—made me wish I’d gone with you. There were days, more than I can count, when I just wished I’d crossed over when you’d offered and just ended it all. But…but things are different now,” Dean said, and Tessa frowned at him.

“What, the whole angel thing? Dean if you think they’ve got your best interest in mind…”

“No, not the angels,” Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought of those conniving self-righteous douches  being the light at the end of his tunnel. “I’m talking about her,” he said with a gesture towards where Melanie sat on the kitchen counter, the words leaping out of his mouth before he could even think about denying them. And now that Dean had started talking, he found he couldn’t really stop.

“I’ve done some terrible things. Unforgivable things. Even once Cas brought me back I still felt like the monster I was down there in the pit, undeserving of anything but hatred from anyone. But now…well, it doesn’t even really make sense. It’s fucking weird, actually. But now that she’s here it’s like I’m starting to feel human again, like maybe I can do some good in the world and put things right, make up for all the terrible shit I did. Cas gave me a second chance when he brought me back, but she’s the one who makes it worth having.”

Tessa stared at him, her expression stuck somewhere  between pity and awe, and Dean had a feeling he was about to get a lecture from a pessimistic reaper who seemed to truly believe that all good things in life were really a scam. But before Tessa could begin her speech, a rather apprehensive Cole entered the room with Sam triumphantly following close behind.

“We’ll finish this later,” Tessa told him as Sam approached, and Dean hoped she’d conveniently forget that promise.

“So, now that we know where the demons are taking the reapers, Cole here is going to help us figure out how to fight in the spirit world,” Sam announced, glancing at something over Dean’s shoulder as he spoke. Dean turned to see Melanie enter the room, her hands stuffed in her pockets and her gaze making a point to stay away from where he stood beside Tessa.

“As you’ve clearly noticed, Dean, this world is different from what we’re used to, so we’re going to have to learn how to at least move things around if we want to have a chance against the demons.” Dean turned back to Sam at the mention of his name, smiling amiably at the reference to his previous prank despite the fact that he felt as if he’d never be happy again.

“I guess I could start with showing you how to move stuff. Little things; it shouldn’t be too hard,” Cole said, his eyes on Tessa as he addressed the group like a rabbit gauging whether or not a waiting hunter would pull the trigger. Cole knew what they were really up to, Dean decided. Sam’s false assurances hadn’t convinced him that he was in the clear, yet Cole had still decided to come help them because it was the right thing to do. This twelve year old kid was already a bigger man than his brother.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Cole asked, his eyes wide, and Dean had just opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about when the large windows behind Sam and Cole shattered inwards.

“Tessa, run!” he heard Melanie shout, and a moment later Dean felt a pair of arms come around to shield his shoulders as he ducked and covered his head. A torrent of black smoke flooded into the room and swirled around them, surrounding him in a foul musty smell that made him want to vomit. He could hear Cole’s mom shrieking in the kitchen and fleetingly hoped she was alright, but a moment later her screams subsided as the smoke vanished.

Dean blinked open his eyes, his brow creasing in confusion as he took in the lock of blonde hair tickling his nose. He glanced up to see Melanie watching him, her hands slowly relaxing their tight grip on his shoulders as her brown eyes scanned his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, and Dean could only nod dumbly in response. She’d leaned over him to protect him with her body the moment the demon had arrived, despite the fact that it had been after Tessa not him, and the obvious fact that Dean was quite a deal larger than her. Against all practical reasoning and despite all that he’d done to her, she’d instinctively used herself to shield him from harm. The more he thought about it, the stronger the heavy, throbbing pain in Dean’s chest became.

He wanted Melanie. Desperately. But it was more than the way he’d wanted women in the past, even more than the way he’d wanted Melanie just a few hours ago. This was greater than an overwhelming physical desire, stronger than the most powerful affection he’d ever felt towards anyone. This was an immeasurable yearning to just be with her, to just exist wherever she was, to just look at her and smell her and listen to her and touch her and taste her and have her in every sense of the word.

Dean wanted her. God dammit, Dean needed her. It hurt him, more than anything else ever had, the way he could know her but not actually have her. She was so close, only a breath away, and yet she was so terribly far from him. He’d pushed her away every time he’d tried to pull her closer and now she stood staring at him from across an impassable chasm, her lips just inches from his forehead but really miles away.

“Good,” Melanie responded in her normal voice, and she hesitated for just another moment before abruptly pulling her hands away and taking a step back from him. Dean stood paralyzed, blinking at her as if rudely awakened from a wonderful dream.

“So now they’ve got the two reapers they need to break the seal,” Sam groaned as he brushed broken glass off his shoulders and gestured to the now vacant area where Tessa had stood a moment before. Dean straightened up and turned his attention to his brother, forcing himself not to watch Melanie as she moved farther across the room.

“Looks like you’ll be needing my help now more than ever then,” Cole said with a smile, and Dean noted that he seemed infinitely more relaxed and amiable now that Tessa was gone.

“Alright. So tell us how to kick some demon ass,” Melanie said, crossing her arms over her chest, and Cole’s smile widened.

“With pleasure.”

_Desperate times_

_Often call for unfortunate measures_

_And while second chances_

_Are in fact a blessing_

_They often benefit one_

_While ruining the other_

 

 


	5. Deception

“First things first,” Cole said as he eagerly rubbed his hands together and circled the three hunters as if marveling over three new toys he’d just received. Melanie held back a smile as she noticed that Sam and Dean regarded Cole with slight skepticism as he took on the role of Sensei; apparently they’d just now realized that their entire mission depended on a twelve-year-old’s teaching abilities.

“You’re going to need to at least be able to manipulate objects if you want to last even twenty minutes in this place,” Cole continued, pausing in his lecture to glance around the living room for an example.

“Here, watch this,” he told them, turning to the coffee table. His brow creased ever so slightly as he stared at the table, and Melanie let out a small hum of admiration as he moved the large wooden structure a foot to the right with the sheer power of his mind.

“Doesn’t look too hard,” Dean remarked with a slight shrug, and Melanie cast him an incredulous glance as Cole raised a challenging eyebrow.

Melanie honestly couldn’t believe how big of an ass Dean was; first there’d been the sexism, and the minute that had ended she’d had to suffer through the humiliation of realizing she meant no more to him than that skanky reaper…and now he seemed to have adopted the arrogance of a small-town high school quarterback on the night of the homecoming game.

The more Melanie thought about it, the harder it became for her to remember why she’d ever found Dean desirable in the first place.

“Alright, let’s see you try then,” Cole offered in response, stepping back and pointing to one of the books on the table. “Try moving it a few inches.” When Dean cast him a frown, silently protesting his less impressive assignment, Cole rolled his eyes. “You have to start small. I don’t care how much you want to impress your girlfriend, breaking your brain by starting out too strong isn’t going to do you any good.”

“I’m not trying to impr—fine, whatever,” Dean grumbled, quickly backtracking as he allowed the prepubescent boy to put him in his place. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stared intently at the book. When a few seconds passed without incident, his brow creased and his lips pursed. He shifted on his feet, his face beginning to turn red, and Melanie realized with amused surprise that he was trying so hard he’d forgotten to breathe.

“Dean, give it up,” Sam called, but Dean gave a grunt and held up his hand for silence as he continued to glare at the book. After a few more tense seconds he finally released his breath in a huff, relaxing his hands where they’d clenched into fists at his side.

“That’s all right, you just need a little more practice,” Cole told Dean as he came forward to pat him on the arm. “You have to imagine the book doing whatever you want it to do. Sometimes it helps if you close your eyes and picture it in your mind. If you wholeheartedly believe you’ve moved it, your belief becomes reality and it moves.”

Dean nodded, taking a breath and rubbing his hands together. He closed his eyes and let his arms fall to his sides, and Melanie and Sam watched the book in anticipation. After a few seconds it gave a slight twitch, moving maybe two centimeters, and Sam let out a shout of triumph, coming forward to clap his brother on the back. Dean opened his eyes, grinning down at the book as if he’d just won Olympic gold, and Melanie couldn’t help but smile as well as he practically glowed with pride.

Jesus, she was trying so hard to hate him, but there was something preventing the loathing from really sinking in, something nagging inside of her that she couldn’t dislodge. She wanted to stop that frustratingly giddy feeling she got in her stomach when he momentarily glanced her way and for a second it was almost as if he was smiling because of something she’d done. She wanted to forget the annoyingly strong urge to kiss him she’d felt after tackling him earlier, the one that still lingered even now, even as she ran through a List of Reasons to Hate Dean in her head. She wanted to do away with this irrational and almost terrifyingly strong affection she felt towards him.

And, most of all, she wanted to actually believe that she no longer wanted to feel this way about him. Because as much as she hated it, as stupid and annoying and painful as it was, Melanie knew deep down that she didn’t really want to let these feelings go.

But that knowledge in no way lessened her frustration.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” Melanie heard Cole ask, and it took her a moment to realize Cole was talking to her. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed Sam move the book six or seven inches across the table, and now apparently her turn had arrived.

“Ok, sure,” she responded, doing her best to ignore the way Sam and Dean watched her as if she’d just agreed to walk on water. She really didn’t know what they expected from her, or why they expected anything at all, but she put them out of her mind in favor of closing her eyes and picturing the living room in her mind.

Melanie fleetingly wondered if imagining Dean flying across the room instead of imaging moving the book would actually do anything. She smiled to herself at the thought of him suddenly being yanked into the air and pushed into the bookshelf on the far wall by an unseen force.

Melanie mentally reprimanded herself and told herself to take the exercise more seriously. But before she could focus on trying to move the book, she heard Dean give a high-pitched squeal of alarmed surprise. She opened her eyes just in time to see Dean lifted from the ground as if he’d been hoisted up by an invisible rope hooked through his belt loops, his ass suspended high in the air as his arms and legs dangled helplessly.  Dean kicked and flailed his arms as he attempted to escape the unseen grasp, but a moment later he was swung into the bookshelf and dropped to the ground. A few paperback novels rained down on him from where they’d been knocked from the shelves by his collision.

Sam had looked alarmed as he’d watched his brother’s unexpected little adventure across the room, but his fear turned to confusion when he caught sight of Melanie biting back a smile and Cole doubled over in laughter.

“What the fuck just happened?” Dean shouted, and Melanie couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from her at his outburst. Cole fell into another bout of giggles as Dean clamored up from the ground on shaky legs, his expression now murderous.

“Did you do that?” Dean demanded, pointing at Cole, who was still laughing too hard to respond. “Do you think this is funny? Is this all a joke to you?” he continued, and as his voice rose in fury Cole finally managed to sober enough to speak.

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t even me! It was all her,” he said with a wave in Melanie’s direction. “But I wish I’d thought of it; that was hilarious!” he gasped out, dissolving into laughter again the moment he finished speaking.

Melanie quickly stalled her laugher with a cough as Dean turned his attention towards her, but oddly enough his anger faded the moment he looked in her direction.

“You did that? Your first time moving anything in the spirit world and you did that?” he asked incredulously, and Melanie offered a small shrug.

“It was an accident really—I’d intended to move the book but I guess I got distracted and…” she trailed off, not exactly sure how to continue. Dean wasn’t angry anymore so there was no need to apologize, and while at first she’d thought he’d wanted an explanation, she now had no idea how to interpret his current expression. He still should have been at least a little annoyed, but he just looked…pleased.

Dean turned to Sam with a growing smile, now practically bouncing in excitement, and Melanie barely held back a scream of anger. This was related to their little secret, whatever they knew but weren’t telling her! Apparently by assaulting Dean she’d done exactly what they’d been hoping for when they’d heard it was her turn to practice her Jedi mind tricks. But what on earth was so great about her tossing Dean into a bookcase? And why couldn’t they just tell her, goddammit? Why did they have to shroud everything in mystery and speak in silent riddles whenever she was around?

“Well, I think that’s a pretty good note to end our lessons on; what do you guys think?” Cole asked, drawing their attention back to the task at hand as he interrupted Sam and Dean’s strange non-verbal conversation of smiles and gestures.

“I mean clearly if you guys get into a tight spot, you’ve got this one to help you out,” Cole added with a nod towards Melanie, and although she knew she should have smiled at his compliment, she could only grimace as her blood ran cold.

What if that’s what the Winchesters were so excited about? What if they’d been relying on her to be the one to have the strongest ghosty powers, to be strong enough to save the reapers, and they’d gotten excited because she’d met their expectations?

Jesus Christ, how many people were relying on her to be the miracle-maker? First Uriel, and now these two; what on earth had given any of them the idea that she was more capable of doing all this impossible shit than any other Dick or Jane? Why did she have to be the special one? And what if she wasn’t all that they seemed to think she was? What if she failed?

Melanie felt as if she was on the verge of boiling over with rage as she thought of just how stupid Sam and Dean had been. At least Uriel had made her responsibilities (kind of) clear to her; the Winchesters had put all their money on her without even telling her what they wanted from her—and now they expected her to be the hero and lead them all to victory when they were still probably keeping other vital information to themselves. What’s more, they’d been doing it this whole time, hadn’t they? It explained their weird stares, how they’d looked at her when Pamela had asked about a plan…

“It’s getting kind of late; don’t you guys have somewhere you need to be?” Cole asked, and Melanie took a deep breath as she tried to calm down. Secret plans or not, what Cole had said was true: she was stronger than Sam and Dean, at least here in the spirit world, and they were going to need her if they wanted to succeed in saving the reapers.

“You’re right, we should probably be heading off,” Sam told him, and Cole led them outside to the porch to point them in the direction he’d seen the black smoke travel towards when it took the first reaper.

“Good luck,” Cole called as the three of them jogged down the front steps, and Melanie turned back to see him waving with a slightly melancholy smile. She lifted her hand in return and paused for just a moment, feeling as if there was something she should say; a simple thank you would be far too little. But Sam and Dean had already started off the sidewalk and Cole was turning away, heading back inside to take advantage of his last few hours in the spirit world.

_Secrets work best_

_When kept entirely concealed_

_For if only pieces of the truth leak out_

_Speculation ruins any chance_

_Of a redeeming explanation_

_*~*~*~*_

Melanie followed behind Sam and Dean as they made their way down the street, the two brothers walking side by side as if on a casual jaunt through the spirit world. She was vaguely aware of their conversation that centered around Dean’s apparent secret love for a television show that centered around a sexy physician in cowboy boots, but she couldn’t really concentrate on their words as a dull drone began in her ears. Neither of the boys seemed to notice it, but Melanie’s agitation grew as the sound only increased in volume with every step they took.

The strange pulse, something akin to the low pounding bass of a rap song, was nearly unbearable as they approached a run-down funeral home graffitied with unusually complex pentagrams and other unfamiliar symbols painted in fluorescent blue ink. Melanie came to a halt on the sidewalk twenty or so yards away, and it took Sam and Dean a moment to realize she no longer followed along behind them.

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Dean called, but Melanie ignored him as she stared at the strange symbols. If she focused on any one of them for a long enough period of time, she could catch flashes of phrases like “evil incarnate makes its home here” and “beware, for I am the creature whose belly rumbles and whose gaze stalks you in the silent night” that seemed to translate into English right before her eyes. The painful sound had finally ceased as she’d studied the symbols, but its absence only made Melanie even warier of this building where death and darkness dwelled.

“Something about this place feels off,” Melanie announced to no one in particular as Sam and Dean came to stand beside her, and she let out a slightly frustrated huff as Dean gave her a look of obvious concern.

“I’m not scared, Dean,” she told him with the most patronizing tone she could manage. “It’s just that this feels like somewhere we shouldn’t be. At all.” Melanie didn’t know how to explain it, but she felt as if the threatening symbols were trying to physically push her away from the building, like the repelling sensation between the negative sides of two magnets held together.

“Well that makes sense doesn’t it?” Sam asked, and Melanie and Dean both turned to him in need of further explanation. “The demons are committing an act against nature by kidnapping the reapers, right? So maybe that’s what you’re sensing. Something wrong is happening in there and you can feel it.”

“I guess…” Melanie said with a slight shrug, still not entirely convinced. But Sam was already heading towards the entrance, and Dean was giving her that I’m-worried-because-I’m-ridiculously-over-protective look again, so she decided to follow them inside if only to help Dean find a wider range of facial expressions.

Sam led them through an entryway lined with plants and flower arrangements accompanied by cards offering condolence. As they walked, Melanie tried and failed to keep from wondering how her own funeral had played out. It would have been a relatively big production, she knew—her mother with her friends from her gardening club, Joseph with his friends from school, Melanie’s own high school friends, the new acquaintances she’d made during the last year she’d spent there….the whole town would’ve been there, she supposed. All of them crying in their black heels and black ties, surrounded by flowers as they themselves surrounded her shredded corpse enclosed in a simple casket.  

Melanie nearly jumped out of her skin—or lack thereof—when she felt a light coldness seep through the fabric of her clothes and directly onto her shoulder, like a damp paper towel draped over her skin. She turned to see Dean quickly pull his hand away from her shoulder, and she frowned at him in confusion.

It took her longer than it should have to realize that he’d doubled-back to fetch her. Without realizing it, apparently she’d lagged behind after coming to a halt before a bouquet of pink roses.

Pink roses. Her favorite flower. The flower she knew would’ve been incorporated into the bed of carnations her mother would have tearfully draped over her sealed casket. The flower she could clearly picture Joseph throwing onto the horrid wooden box as they lowered her into the ground. The flower whose petals had lodged beneath her nails as she clawed her way back from the dead.

“Hey, you ok?” Dean asked, his hand on her shoulder once again as his voice pulled her mind back from another lapse. She needed to focus—this wasn’t going to work if she kept getting distracted by her own mortality.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about…well, it doesn’t matter,” she told him with a blatantly false smile. She didn’t care how obvious it was that something was bothering her—engaging in a conversation about her death wasn’t going to help her forget about it.

“Hey, are you two coming or what?” Sam hissed, peeking his head around the corner from a doorway farther down the hall.

“Keep your panties on Sam, we’re coming,” Dean whispered in response. He then turned back to Melanie, his hand sliding down her arm to brush his fingers against hers. His touch was like a faint dusting of snowflakes that fluttered across her fingertips before melting into her skin— soft, light, and still impossibly warm despite their chill.

So that’s what it would’ve felt like to kiss him.

But Dean pulled away a moment later, as if he’d momentarily considered taking her hand but had thought better of it. And then he was jogging after Sam, leaving Melanie with no choice but to follow behind as if nothing had happened.

Melanie found Sam and Dean standing in the doorway before a large open room, and she glanced around Sam’s shoulder to see Tessa and the older male reaper on their backs side by side inside a large pentagram painted on the hardwood floor. A single demon patrolled the area, his eyes scanning the room in obvious anticipation of the three hunters.

“He’s bound to notice us if we try anything,” Sam grumbled, taking a step back out of sight as the demon turned their way.

“Not if he can’t catch us,” Dean said meaningfully, and Sam frowned at him before understanding washed over his face.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Sam asked, and Dean gave a small shrug.

“It’s the best we’ve got.”

Melanie was so tired of their secrets she didn’t even bother getting upset by their little unspoken chat. Of course it didn’t matter if she knew this plan of theirs or not—it wasn’t like this whole operation depended on her or anything. That would have been utterly preposterous.

Dean turned to her with that same excited expression he’d worn back at Cole’s house, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he really ever saw her as more than a demon-fighting, apocalypse-stopping weapon created for his benefit. That’s all she was to Uriel, she knew—he’d as much as told her so. Maybe that’s all she even could be now; who’s to say she was even human anymore, now that she’d been brought back from the dead? Perhaps they’d done something to her, changed her in some way…

She felt as if she was going to be sick.

“Melanie? Melanie, can you do it?” Dean asked, and a chill ran down her spine as she realized she’d spaced out while he’d talked to her. This was getting ridiculous; her inability to focus would’ve been dangerous enough on a standard mission, but the fact that she was clearly Sam and Dean’s only hope of success made it even more imperative that she keep her head.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she huffed, suddenly breathless, and she paused for a moment before trying to speak again. “Could you just repeat everything?” she asked, and she wanted to punch him square in the nose when that stupid bloody concerned look returned to his face.

“Melanie, what’s going on with you?” he asked, taking a step towards her, and she quickly waved him away. They could talk about her later—right now they needed to focus on the job.

“Nothing. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just—just say whatever you said again,” she told him, growing more exasperated by the second, and Sam cast her a concerned look of his own before sending a message to Dean via the silent communications system they seemed to use more than actual verbal speech.   

“Well do you remember that vanishing thing Cole did when the demon smoke showed up? If you could somehow do that, we could surprise Black Eyes out there and have a better shot at putting an end to all this,” Dean told her, and Melanie merely stared at him.

“For someone who made such a big deal about not wanting me to hunt, you seem pretty eager to offer me up for slaughter,” she finally told him, her words full of exhaustion and completely void of emotion.

Dean took a step away from her, face twisting in pain as if she’d quite literally plunged an acid-dipped dagger into his heart.

“That’s not—I’m not trying to sacrifice you,” Dean practically cried in horrified incredulity, and he slapped away Sam’s arm when his younger brother made a grab to clamp his hand over his mouth.

“Jesus Dean keep your voice down,” Sam hissed, and Dean glared at him as if seriously considering breaking his hand. When he turned back to Melanie, his eyes were as sorrowful as those of a man who’d watched his only love slowly fade and die before his eyes.

“Then why are you trying to get me to jump out into the open and attempt something that probably took Cole months to master, while you and Sammy get to stay here nice and safe and share your silent little secrets?” she fired back, her fists clenching as she thought about just how utterly ridiculous this all was.

She wasn’t a superhero, dammit! She was a girl from Maine who’d gotten pulled into hunting and then pulled out of hell—that was it! There was nothing special about her, and it was about time Dean and Sam and everyone else on this godforsaken earth got that into their little heads!

“Melanie, I don’t…the very last thing I want is for something to happen to you,” he told her in the softest tones she’d ever heard him use, and she found her anger slightly deflating as he moved to stand close before her. She honestly wasn’t sure if he’d only voiced the words aloud as a means of convincing her to go along with his plan, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that they were true. As illogical and senseless as it was, he honestly did look as if he’d throw himself in front of a train if anything happened to her.

“But I’m your only hope. So if I don’t play the hero, the whole world goes to hell. That’s how this works, right?” she asked, not bothering to hold back the harsh tone of her words, and Dean swallowed before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah that basically sums up the shit that is our lives,” Dean said with surprising bitterness, and it almost sounded as if his voice was choked with the tightness that always came just before tears.

“Well I guess I don’t have much of a choice then,” she told him with a sigh, and the smallest of smiles played at his lips as he continued to stare down at her. Melanie felt her heart stutter as she realized how close they’d drifted as they’d talked, Dean’s mouth now only a breath away from her own.

If she leaned forward even a millimeter, just barely tilted her head in the right direction, she could have him. She could have those pink frosty snowflake lips against her own, feel the slight sting of his icy teeth tug at her mouth, taste the sweet heat of his chilly tongue as it slid against hers.    

“We should probably get a move on then,” Sam offered from a few feet away, his voice sounding strained and uncomfortable, and Melanie cleared her throat and stepped away from Dean with an embarrassing amount of redness in her cheeks.

“Wish me luck then,” Melanie told Sam with a mirthless smile as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and rolled her shoulders, and Sam flashed her a strained smile of his own as she stepped through the doorway and into the room.

Humans resemble sheep                                                   

In every aspect but one.

_Sheep will follow their leader to their death_

_Without choice, without thought._

_But humans, for better or worse_

_Will ceaselessly question their guide_

_And require a reason before giving their trust_

_*~*~*~*~*_

Taking a deep breath, Melanie closed her eyes and pictured herself on the other side of the large room.

When she opened her eyes she stood right behind the demon, and she allowed herself a relieved sigh before she kicked his legs out from under him. He fell to the ground with a grunt, quickly clambering back up to look around in confusion. He stumbled towards her with an expression of annoyed anger, and Melanie smiled at him before she imagined herself behind him again. She cleared her throat, probably enjoying herself more than she should have when he turned towards her in bewilderment just in time to meet the fist she sent flying into his nose.           

The demon stumbled back with a bellow of rage before lunging for her, but his arms wrapped around empty air as Melanie vacated the spot in the blink of eye. Before the demon could even determine where Melanie had relocated to, he was greeted by a punch to the stomach courtesy of Dean. The demon fell to the ground with a miserable groan, and Sam threw in his two cents in the form of a kick to the demon’s chest. The three hunters followed after the demon as he crawled onto the stage at the back of the room and around the (hopefully empty) casket on display.

“Demons: still just a bunch of wimps, even in the spirit world,” Dean commented with a chuckle as he watched the way the demon cowered once they’d surrounded him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to count your chickens before they’ve hatched?” the demon spat, blood dribbling down his chin as he grinned up at them. Melanie felt a distinct foreboding feeling in her gut at his words, and a moment later a second demon burst from a concealed doorway to their right.

The battered demon before them let out a cackling laugh as he leapt up and vaulted over the coffin, the second demon hissing in pain as he dragged a chain across the stage to create a barrier of iron.

“Shit,” Dean muttered as the three hunters stood confined to the trap they’d punched their way into.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite traveling circus,” cooed a voice from the far doorway, and Sam and Dean both tensed.

“Oh god,” Melanie gasped out, stumbling backwards into Dean as Alistair entered the room wearing yet another human body. She honestly thought she vomit as Alistair gave her a slow smile, and she felt cold beads of sweat forming on her brow as he approached. She of course knew he’d be at the center of all of this, but hearing his eerily smooth human voice mixed with that familiar gravely dark rumble straight from hell made her want to curl up into a whimpering ball of cowardice.

The sturdy support of Dean’s chest against her back shifted as he made an attempt to move in front of her, but Melanie remained stationary and made it clear she didn’t want him to stand before her. As stubborn as ever, Dean refused to give up his efforts to protect her with his body. They quickly found themselves in an odd sort of scuffle as Melanie fought to keep him behind her, and their shuffling feet and pushing hands eventually prompted Sam to cast Dean a disapproving look, despite their current predicament.

When one of Alistair’s minions presented the grey-eyed demon with a rifle, Dean let out a grunt as he made one last attempt to leap in front of her. But Melanie had already failed to protect Dean from Alistair’s wrath once before by not shielding him with her body—there was no way she was going to let him get hurt at her expense again. Melanie elbowed Dean in the gut to keep him in his place, and he gripped his stomach with a groan as Alistair cocked his gun and pointed it at Melanie.

“No, wait!” she heard Dean cry out in one last desperate attempt to protect her, but Alistair merely smiled at him before pulling the trigger. Meanie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach and simultaneously rammed through the middle with a lance as the room disappeared and she was submerged in complete darkness.

A moment later the room returned, and she found herself on the stage once again as if she’d just come up from deep under water. She fought to get breath to her lungs as she clutched at her stomach, and she ignored the unrelated throb she felt in her chest when she noticed Dean’s incredibly relieved smile and unexpectedly watery eyes.

“Killing is so much more fun when the toys come running right back for more,” Alistair mused with a pleased smile as he watched Melanie stand to her full height again. The grey eyed demon then turned his attention to Sam, cocking his head to the side.

“It must be hard for you, knowing you’re oh so strong but still not being able to use that special little power of yours. Pity how much you rely on that poisoned little meat sack. They really are a quite hindering weakness, bodies,” Alistair remarked, and Melanie took a step away from the younger Winchester as she recalled the scene she’d witnessed in the graveyard. Melanie glanced at Dean, hoping he might be able to explain the words Alistair clearly meant just for Sam. But one look at Dean made it clear that he knew even less than Melanie did, his gaze confused yet suspicious as he looked from Alistair to his brother and then back again.

The more Melanie thought about what she’d seen in the graveyard, and Alistair’s comment about it, the more it confused her. Where had Sam’s power over demons come from? Why couldn’t he use it here, without his body? Melanie’s own abilities, whatever they were, seemed perfectly fine, possibly even enhanced here in the spirit world. And, most importantly, why did Dean, the one person Sam was constantly sharing secrets with, seem to know nothing about it?

“Go to hell,” Sam responded, and Alistair rolled his eyes as the younger Winchester displayed his never-ending supply of witty and clever retorts.

“Well you see Sammy, I would go back to hell in an instant and never leave again if it was up to me. Hell is just so chock full of fun—wouldn’t you agree, Dean? Melanie?” he said, offering the question to the room as he voiced his thoughts aloud. “Sometimes I wonder: which one of you enjoyed it more? It seems pretty obvious of course, that the one doing the torturing would’ve had a better time down there in the pit. But then, when I think back to the way she used to whimper and moan for me…does she make those noises for you too, Dean?” Alistair asked, but before Melanie could hear the wrathful response she knew was bubbling up within Dean, the room was gone and she’d been impaled in the stomach again.

Melanie felt as if she was coughing up blood, but no liquid emerged from her throat as the large room of the funeral home reappeared before her. She clutched at her stomach as if trying to hold in her organs, even though she of course knew that no real damage had been done to her body here in the spirit world.

“Just stop shooting her,” Dean shouted in agitation as Melanie gripped his jacket and coughed up the tangy metallic liquid that she knew only existed in her imagination. Dean rubbed a gentle hand into her back in soothing circles until as she finally regained her breath and released her hold on his arm, and Alistair gave Dean a slow smile.

“You seem a little rattled,” Alistair commented, and the glare Dean gave him in response would have flayed the skin of any other creature. “What is it, loverboy?” Alistair continued. “Still think you’re the only one entitled to hurting her?”

Melanie watched Dean’s shoulders tense, and she reached down to take his hand in hers as he shifted his feet and clenched his jaw.

“Don’t listen to him, Dean,” she soothed, but she couldn’t even be sure if he’d heard her or noticed her calming hand in his as he kept his attention wholly focused on Alistair.

“You know, you always were my favorite pupil. But I’m afraid I just can’t let you have this one all to yourself. I’ve just got a soft spot for her,” Alistair said with a casual shrug as he rested the barrel of the rifle on his shoulder. “Or I suppose a hard spot would be a more accurate description,” Alistair corrected with a glance down at his crotch followed by a wink at Melanie.

Melanie felt bile rise in her throat as she fought to keep memories of her time with Alistair in the pit at bay. He’d done horrible things, such terrible, atrocious things to her down there in the pit, every day, for ten years. Even the subtlest mention of it made her want to claw off her skin, to bathe in acid,  to do anything that would ensure that not a single aspect of his touch or smell still lingered on her.

“You understand, don’t you Dean?” Alistair continued, and Melanie felt the circulation cutting off in her fingers as Dean’s hands balled into fists. “You understand how hard it is to ignore the hunger? How hard it is to give up something as sweet as the sounds she makes when you cut into her? How hard it is to forget how orgasmic it feels to have her yell out your name as you slice off her—“

Melanie was jerked forward as Dean strode toward Alistair, his eyes blazing as he practically frothed at the mouth in rage; Melanie half expected him to leap over the iron chain and savagely tear into Alistair’s flesh with his teeth.

“You shut up! You shut the fuck up, you sick, twisted bastard!” Dean roared, his chest heaving as he stood at the edge of the stage with Melanie’s hand still crushed in his. Alistair merely chuckled as he handed his rifle to one of his minions in exchange for a scythe.

Melanie glanced at Dean when she noticed the weapon, desperately hoping he might make a crack about Alistair killing reapers with their own mythological weapon of choice. But the ironic connection didn’t even seem to register with Dean, as he merely continued to watch Alistair with such vengeful determination it deeply unsettled Melanie.

“We need to do something—now,” Sam said as he came to stand closer beside an uncharacteristically silent Dean.

“By ‘we’ you of course mean me,” Melanie sighed, and Sam gave her an apologetic but tense little smile as Alistair bent down over Tessa and began chanting.

“Don’t do this,” Tessa, now awake, pleaded as Alistair jerked up on her jacket to better position the scythe against her neck. When it became clear that Alistair wasn’t going to stop his incantation because of her oh so persuasive argument, Tessa’s eyes landed on Dean. The reaper’s gaze remained steadily trained on Dean’s face as she silently begged him for a speedy rescue.

As she watched the way Tessa stared at the man whose vice-like grip had turned Melanie’s fingers purple, Melanie knew that she didn’t in fact have to do anything at this precise moment. She could, in all honesty, allow Alistair to kill Tessa first, and merely wait until after he’d slit the skank’s throat to rescue the elderly reaper and save the day.

But Melanie also knew that Tessa did not deserve to die, no matter how much Melanie wanted Dean’s ‘favorite’ reaper out of the picture. So, rather than taking the cruel and heartlessly selfish way out, Melanie imagined one of the light fixtures overhead falling to scrape away the paint of the pentagram that trapped the reapers.

A crash sounded as the lamp smashed into the hardwood floor, and a moment later Tessa stood just on the other side of the iron chain. The elderly reaper had vanished without so much as a nod in her direction.

“Thank you,” Tessa told Melanie with genuine sincerity as she pulled away the chain, and Melanie only had time to offer her a slightly strained smile before the room and Dean’s grip on her hand disappeared.

*~*~*~*~*

Melanie awoke to the sound of fighting, the distinct grunts and groans of a physical altercation more familiar to her than she would’ve liked to admit. She quickly rose from the chair where her body had resided during her time in the spirit world, and her vision swam as she did her best to adjust to the mortal world again.

A movement to her right caught her attention, and Melanie turned just in time to see a demon plunge his blade into Pamela’s abdomen. Melanie drew her blade, her blood pumping with an almost primal instinct to protect and defend as the demon made his way towards where Dean’s body lay on the bed.

As Melanie neared the black-eyed creature, she found herself wishing she possessed a knife with the capability to actually kill a demon. Melanie’s own knife had a devil’s trap engraved on the blade that kept a demon rooted in place, and its hilt was wrapped in leather tanned with holy water and salt. But despite the alterations she’d made to it, the best her knife could do was keep a demon stationary and in pain long enough for an exorcism to be performed.

But before Melanie could throw her knife at the hulking demon now making his way towards Dean with hunger in his black eyes, the monster was thrown back against the far window. Melanie looked on in disbelief as Sam held his hand out towards the demon, slowly clenching his fist with his brow creased in concentration. Melanie watched as black smoke poured from the demon’s mouth and burned to ash on the floor, but a muffled laugh from Pamela drew her attention away from the bizarre spectacle of Sam’s ability.

“No blood,” Pamela told Melanie with a grin as she kneeled by her side, and the woman began laughing as Sam joined them a moment later. “Get me a drink,” she added, and Melanie shifted uncomfortably as she wondered how long it would take the now freed reapers to return to their work of escorting souls to the afterlife.  

“Pamela, we need to get you to a doctor,” Sam told her, and when he caught Melanie’s eye she knew he was thinking the same thing.

“No, what I need is a drink,” Pamela insisted. Sam paused for a moment before pursing his lips and closing his eyes as he stiffly rose to his feet. He took a deep breath, then turned towards the small assortment of liquor to fulfill the last wishes of a woman who knew her time had come.

_Death comes to most only once_

_But for those it visits time and time again_

_The pain of loss stings sharpest_

_When mortality comes knocking for a loved one_

_And sweeps them away_

_To never knock again._

* * *

 

Dean’s stomach surged as he and Tessa appeared on the deserted sidewalk in front of the run-down funeral home. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves after their sudden relocation, but he soon felt the sharp talons of fear pierce into him when he realized Melanie’s hand was no longer tucked into his own.  He quickly glanced around, panic rising within him as images of her bound and battered in Alistair’s possession raced through his mind. He turned towards Tessa, his breath shallow as a cold sweat broke out over his forehead despite the constant chill in the air.

“Where are Sam and Melanie?” he demanded, his voice coming out far more strained than he’d have liked.

“They should’ve been with us when we escaped; I don’t know why we got separated,” she told him, tossing the words over her shoulder as she began moving down the street. “Look, I’d really like to help you find them, but—“

“No, you get out of here before Alistair comes after you again. I’ve got it,” Dean assured her, and she gave him a quick nod with a smile before she vanished and he was left alone on the street.

Tucking his hands in his pockets and pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself, Dean ducked around the side of the building and jogged along an alleyway lined with abandoned structures. He followed the path he knew Melanie and Sam would’ve taken to stay out of sight from Alistair’s men as they waited to meet up with him after being separated. Dean’s eyes scanned the buildings for any sign of them, and he fought to stay calm as it became clear that they were nowhere in the vicinity.

Dean held back a groan as he wracked his brain for anywhere else they might have gone, any scenario that might have caused their actions to deviate from what he’d expected. But before he could think of any reason for Sam and Melanie to venture somewhere other than the back-alley warehouses, he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Alistair.

Dean stumbled backwards, a shout of terror caught in his throat as he stared wide-eyed at the demon. He was completely unarmed with no way of attack or defense, and all he could think of was that at least if Alistair was here, with him, it meant he wasn’t currently hurting Melanie.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon Dean,” Alistair told him with a smile, his eerily smooth voice causing the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck to stand at attention. “I have to say you aren’t the one I was hoping to run into,” he added, taking a step closer as his grin spread wider.

“You stay away from her,” Dean growled, his lip curling and his clenched fists trembling as he did his best to restrain himself; he knew he wasn’t nearly strong enough to stand a chance against Alistair in the spirit world unarmed, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to strangle the demon with his bare hands.

“Oh but I can’t,” Alistair crooned as he cocked his head to the side and stepped even closer.  Dean could smell the putrid scent of rotten fruit on the demon’s breath and he gagged, doing his best to shallow his breathing and avoid the scent. “I’m in your head, Dean,” he continued. “There’s no getting away from me now, Dean. There’s no escaping, not really. We’re bonded now,” Alistair finished, and Dean tried to sort out his screaming thoughts and keep his head above water as he nearly drowned in Alistair’s terrifying words. But before he could fully comprehend the disturbing implications of being ‘bonded’ to a demon, Dean was blinded by a painfully bright flash of light. He turned away from the source, shielding his face and squeezing his eyes shut. The light disappeared a moment later, and Dean looked up to see a completely deserted alleyway before him.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered, staring ahead in confusion, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded from behind him.

“Not quite,” the familiar gravelly voice responded, and Dean turned to meet Cas’s steady gaze.

“What—what just happened?” Dean asked, doing his best to keep the hysteria out of his voice after all he’d just seen and heard.

“We’ve just captured Alistair. This is a victory, Dean; you stopped the seal from breaking and now we have him locked away.”

“Wait, what do you mean we? You—are you saying you were a part of this? That you were here the whole time but didn’t help us?” Dean demanded in disbelief, hardly able to comprehend that he’d endured so much strife in his attempt to keep Melanie out of the line of fire when Cas could’ve just dealt with it himself. Melanie had gotten shot—twice—and Cas had just sat back and watched?

“I couldn’t help you, Dean. Alistair utilized sigils and symbols that prevent angels from approaching his place of business.”

“So like angel-proofing,” Dean summarized, recalling the blue symbols painted on the outer walls of the funeral home.

His brow creased as he thought back to how uncomfortable Melanie had felt in the presence of the bright blue inscriptions, and he couldn’t help but wonder why something designed to repel angels would make Melanie look as if she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. But before he could further ponder the implications of Melanie’s reaction to the florescent blue paint, Cas pulled his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Yes, I suppose that would be the colloquial term. The repelling properties of the symbols are what motivated me to recruit you in the first place,” Cas informed him, and Dean held up a hand to stop him before he could continue.

“Hang on, recruit us?”

“Yes; I suppose I might as well tell you now: the call you received that informed you of the disturbance in this town did not come from your friend Bobby. I was the one who contacted you,” Cas told him, and Dean shifted on his feet as he tried to shake off how uncomfortable Cas’s deception made him. The idea that Cas could so carelessly manipulate him and Sam rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and made it much harder for Dean to argue that Cas wasn’t as much of a self-righteous asshole as his fellow angels.

“Ok, so is all of this part of why you wanted Melanie to stay out of it?” Dean asked, doing his best to salvage the situation by bringing the focus back to actions that weren’t’ dictated by Cas’s handlers up in heaven.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Cas told him with a slight frown.

“Did you want me to keep her from fighting because of the angel-proofing?” Dean clarified, and the more he thought about it the more it made sense: Melanie’s frightened reaction, Cas’s warning… Dean’s stomach churned as he thought back to what Cas had told him the morning before in the parking lot.

“You said we needed to keep her safe because of something terrible; is the angel-proofing going to do something to her? Is that what you were trying to keep her away from, those symbols that upset her so much?” He demanded, his voice growing in volume and roughness as he realized that despite his best efforts to keep her safe, he might have already endangered Melanie by disobeying Cas’s orders.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice low and calm, and Dean’s words caught in his throat at the sound of his name.  “The power of the sigils is entirely harmless to humans. It appears as a language humans cannot even comprehend, a mixture of symbols in ancient tongues that existed long before your race walked the earth,” Cas assured him, and Dean struggled to interpret this new information; why had Melanie looked so upset if she’d only seen a meaningless garble of letters?

“No, that doesn’t make sense. Melanie told us she didn’t want to go inside because something was telling her to stay away, warning her of dangers inside. It was like she could read it, and she didn’t like what she saw,” Dean told him, and Cas paused, his brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” Cas muttered to himself, and Dean frowned at him.

“Why is that ‘interesting’?” he asked, his mocking tone doing nothing to hide his suspicion. He got the distinct feeling that anything an angel found ‘interesting’ couldn’t possibly be good for anyone involved.

“It is not of import,” Cas told him dismissively, and Dean took a breath, ready to argue, but Cas changed the subject before he could get a word in.

“I would not have aided you and your brother even without the presence of the angel-proofing as you called it. You didn’t need my help—you had Melanie.”

Dean shifted on his feet, pulling a hand out of his pocket to point an accusing finger at Cas.

“Who you told me I had to keep safe and hidden,” Dean reminded him in a growl, shifting again as he fought to keep from letting all his pent-up rage boil over in the form of a fist flying into Cas’s face. “What if we hadn’t used her? What would you and your manipulative little angel buddies have done then?” he demanded, his body nearly quaking in fury.

“I knew you would ignore my warning. That is precisely why I told you not to involve her,” Cas explained with a proud little smile, and Dean shoved his fist back into his jacket and turned away from the angel before he could do something he’d regret. He felt as if he was exploding, his skin and muscles peeling away as an impossible energy swelled up inside of him until he was fit to burst. Every lie he’d told Melanie, every secret he’d kept, every hostile glare and avoided gaze he’d endured—all of it had been for nothing. There he’d been, thinking he was protecting her safety, when in fact he’d merely been a pawn in the angel’s cruel little mind game.

“We wanted you to use Melanie to keep the seals from being broken,” Cas continued, but Dean could hardly hear him as blood rushed in his ears. “She’s an asset we can’t afford not to use.”

Dean spun back around, his fury about hearing Melanie referred to as an ‘asset’ mixing with his feelings of betrayal as he realized just how low Cas had stooped to get Dean to bend to his will.

“No, you don’t get to—you don’t get to lie and deceive and pull our strings to make us to do what you want, Cas. If you want something done, if you want our help, you ask for it,” Dean growled, and Cas’s eyes narrowed in response, the first hint of the angel’s hostility during the entire encounter.

“It would seem to me that the Winchesters do not understand the language of honesty. You constantly act in the exact opposite of my requests, defying heaven at every turn. So I concluded that perhaps I could gain your assistance by communicating with you in a way you might understand: deception.”

Dean could only gape at Cas in shock, his brain straining to sift through and understand all the conflicting information that had been dumped on him in the last two days. Cas hadn’t really wanted him to protect and conceal Melanie at all—he’d wanted him to use her to break the seals.  And he’d lied about it because he didn’t think Dean could function in a world based on honesty.

But the worst part of it all? Cas was right. Based on Dean’s actions, it was perfectly logical to assume that he could only operate in lies. Dean had spent so long seething over Sam’s dishonesty when he had made himself the poster child of deceivers. He’d never felt so hypocritical in his life.

“So what does this all mean?” Dean asked with a heavy sigh, running his hands over his face. “Do you not need me to protect Melanie anymore?”

Dean blinked in surprise when Cas let out a laugh, his blue eyes crinkling as his lips spread to reveal straight white teeth.

“Melanie doesn’t need you to protect her; in fact, it’s more of the other way around,” Cas chuckled, and Dean continued to stare at him in bemused surprise. “But you do still need to keep her hidden—that’s the most important part,” Cas added seriously, his mood quickly sobering.

“Wait, slow down,” Dean said, waving one hand as he brought the other up to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fight off his growing headache. “Are you saying that Sam was right and we should send her to Bobby to keep her hidden?”

“No, I can promise you will not stand a chance without her. Do not send her away; you need her for protection,” Cas said firmly, and Dean stared at him in disbelief. Cas couldn’t possibly have thought he was making sense; keep her around but don’t let anyone else see her? How the hell was that supposed to work?

“So what are we supposed to do Cas?” Dean asked, not bothering to keep the annoyed exhaustion out of his voice. “How do we use her but keep her hidden at the same time?”

“That is your responsibility to determine, Dean,” Cas told him. “I am merely relaying orders.”

Dean sighed in frustration and reached up to massage two fingers into his temples, but redirected his anger as Cas’s words reminded him of Tessa and Sam’s claims about the natural order of things.

“What’s going to happen to all those people now?” Dean asked, changing the subject as his mind continued down the road towards his earlier conversations about life and death. “Now that the reapers are free, are they all just going to kick the bucket?”

Cas paused for a moment, seeming to strain as he deciphered the meaning of Dean’s euphemism, before answering.

“Yes,” Cas said simply, and Dean let out a shocked reflexive laugh in response.

“And you’re perfectly ok with that,” Dean observed in a slightly scathing tone, and Cas merely shrugged.

“So why is it fair that they have to die while I get to live?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows challengingly.

“Because you are special, Dean.”

“Then what are they? Aren’t they special, Cas? They’re somebody’s dad, somebody’s kid, somebody’s little brother. So why should I get to live, why should I get a second chance, when they have their lives ripped from their hands and you don’t even flinch? What makes me so damn special that my life matters while theirs don’t?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to save us all, Dean,” Cas told him.

And then Cas was gone, and Dean was standing beside Tessa in Cole Griffith’s living room.

_Cowards fear admitting their mistakes_

_While the bravest men have nothing to hide_

_Yet neither regret nor good intentions_

_Justify dishonesty in the eyes of the deceived_

* * *

Dean sucked in a deep breath and stumbled forward a bit as he took in his surroundings. He turned to his left at the sound of a sob, and his mind was torn between excitement at finally having found Melanie and worry due to her crying. But he was met with only disappointment as he realized the weeping woman on the couch was in fact Cole’s mother; Melanie was still nowhere to be found.

The woman sat surrounded by photo albums, pictures that ranged from snapshots of a food-covered baby to a grinning dark-haired toddler spread out on the table before her. Dean felt his heart surge as he watched Mrs. Griffith’s shoulders shake as she heaved another sob and clutched Cole’s most recent picture.

“Hello, Cole.”

Dean turned towards the sound of Tessa’s voice, already having forgotten that he wasn’t alone with Mrs. Griffith in the room. He initially hadn’t understood why Tessa had pulled him away from the alleyway with Cas, but her motives became clear as Tessa greeted the boy.

“You can tell your brother thanks for nothing,” Cole muttered as he entered the room, crossing his arms over his chest and only momentarily making eye contact with Dean. Although he knew it wouldn’t have done any good for him to apologize to the kid, Dean wished there was something he could say that would undo his brother’s dishonesty. Cole may have known all along that Sam was lying about Tessa’s promise not to return, but that didn’t make Sam’s deception any less despicable.

“Cole, come a little closer,” Tessa beckoned with a kind smile, and Cole hesitated before looking to Dean as if silently asking if following her request was a good idea. Dean gave a small nod and Cole took a tentative step forward, his gaze avoiding his crying mother.

“Take a look at your mom, Cole,” Tessa insisted, and Cole shifted on his feet before finally looking her way. “See how unhappy she is?” Tessa asked, and Cole nodded, biting down on his lip and lowering his head.

“Yeah, she uhm, she cries a lot,” Cole said quietly, reaching up to swipe at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“It’s because she can feel you here, Cole. By staying here, you’re keeping her from being able to let go of you,” Tessa explained, and Cole shook his head, taking a step away from her.

“No, I—I know what you want me to do, and I won’t do it. You want me to leave her here and I can’t; she needs me, she’s my mom!” Cole cried, his face crumbling as his voice broke and he let out a whimper.

“You have to let her go,” Tessa insisted, but Cole ignored her and turned towards Dean, his voice high and scared.

“How can I just leave my mom when I don’t even know where I’m going?” he asked, and Dean opened his mouth to respond but closed it a moment later. He couldn’t lie to this kid. Not after what Cas had told him, not after all the lying he’d done already; Cole deserved better.

“I can’t tell you what’ll happen once you cross over. But I can promise you that staying here, watching everyone you love grow old and never being able to talk to them, never to have them recognize that you’re still here…and once they’re gone you’ll be left all alone for eternity. And that will be worse than death.”

Cole seemed to calm as Dean talked, his wide brown eyes now able to take in the sight of his mom across the room. He stepped forward and picked up one of the pictures, staring down at the small reflective paper that had captured and immortalized the memory of his 5th birthday.

“Are you coming?” Cole asked suddenly, turning to Dean without warning, and Dean let out a humorless laugh in surprise.

“Not today, kid. But I’m sure I’ll be there sooner than you think.”

Cole gave him a small smile, then gave his mom one final look before tucking the photo in his pocket and coming to stand before Tessa.

“Will it hurt?” he asked her softly, and Dean was struck with the sudden impulse to turn away. This was private, something he had no right to intrude on. But Dean wasn’t going to leave Cole to go through this alone.

“It’ll be over soon,” Tessa responded, and Dean decided not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t answered his question. Tessa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Cole, pulling him into a hug, and Dean watched with wide eyes as Cole’s form dissolved into light and disappeared into Tessa’s chest.

Dean continued to stare in silence, trying to fight off his anger at how unfair this all was. Cole hadn’t done anything wrong, had never hurt anyone, yet he’d been torn from his mother and had his entire life cut short. Dean had always done his best not to get too attached, not to let his emotions get in the way, but he couldn’t get over the guilt he felt every moment he spent alive while innocent people like Cole got cheated out of their futures.

“Look after that kid,” Dean told Tessa; he may not have been able to save Cole, but the least he could do was make sure he was alright.

“You look out for yourself,” Tessa responded as she turned to face him, and Dean could tell by the seriousness in her tone that she was getting ready to continue her speech from earlier.

“After being in this business for three thousand years, there’s one thing that’s always accompanied Death without fail. Do you know what that thing is, Dean?” Tessa asked as she crossed her arms across her chest, and Dean was tempted to respond by telling her that no, he didn’t know, but he was sure she would tell him.

Dean merely shrugged instead.

“Lies. Death comes from lies, Dean,” she told him, and it was all he could do not to sigh as he realized her scolding was headed down the same path as Cas’s earlier accusation. But while Cas’s words had stung Dean and prompted him into aiming towards a more honest life, Tessa’s squawking  only made him want to ignore her every word.

“For example, you telling Cole that he was ‘going to a better place’? Most popular lie there is,” she told him, and Dean held up a hand to stop her speech.

“Hang on, I didn’t lie to him,” Dean insisted, and Tessa raised an eyebrow in challenging disbelief. “I was telling him the truth—I told him he didn’t want to stay here, that he should go like you wanted him to. I was saying the same thing you were.”

“No, Dean, you weren’t,” she told him, and Dean frowned at her in confusion. “You made him think things would be better where he’s going, but you don’t know that. I don’t even know what happens once souls cross over—and I don’t pretend to. It doesn’t matter how good your intentions were. Lies are harmful, dangerous, and all too often they prove to be fatal.”  

Dean rubbed a hand into the back of his neck as he listened to Tessa speak, his mind only filled with one word: Melanie.

He’d deceived her with the best intentions, but his lies constantly seemed to result in more trouble than they were worth. He’d lied to her in an attempt to keep her safe, but after what Tessa had just told him he couldn’t help but think that his actions may have had the opposite effect.

“You’ve got to stop lying to yourself, Dean,” Tessa continued, and Dean’s attention returned to her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dean told her in a knee-jerk response, and he even sounded defensive to his own ears.

“I know you’re scared and confused about your role in all of this, but you can’t just blindly trust the first doe-eyed angel that offers you help,” Tessa told him earnestly, and Dean opened his mouth to respond but she continued before he could get a word in.

“I know you think Melanie’s your second chance, your silver lining, but don’t think for a minute that anything they’ve done for you was with your best interest in mind –or hers, for that matter. There really is something dark going on here, Dean, and I can’t just let you keep going thinking that their presence is a good force in your life.”

Dean remained silent as he took in her words, thinking back to how much faith Melanie seemed to have in the angel’s cause being the solution to the end of the world. He thought about her faith in him, how furious she’d been when she’d realized he’d broken her trust, and how ready she was to save the world and her eagerness to live her new life.

And then Dean considered the way he’d been encouraged to use her for some greater purpose, and how he’d lied to her of his own will.

“There’s no such thing as miracles, Dean,” Tessa told him, her voice hushed but sincere, and Dean didn’t want to believe her but he knew he could no longer deny himself the truth.

A moment later Dean found himself laying on his back in a hotel room, breath rushing into his lungs and his head spinning as he looked up to find Melanie sitting beside him, her hand over his.

* * *

Melanie briefly turned away from Dean as she heard Pamela let out a small grunt of pain, and she tried to ignore how unsettling it was to watch a woman creep towards death as she held Dean’s abnormally cold hand.

“Just hang in there, Pamela,” she heard Sam tell the woman. “All we have to do is keep Tessa from reaping for a little while and everything will be fine,” he said in a slightly panicked voice, and Melanie did all she could to hold back a huff of annoyance. Pamela knew she was dying, and Sam’s words weren’t going to change her fate; his dishonest optimism would only make things harder when Pamela’s condition began to worsen.

But a sound from the unconscious body on the bed drew her attention back to Dean, and Melanie quickly turned to face him. He blinked up at her with huge eyes as his chest rose and fell heavily, and Melanie’s grip on his hand instinctively tightened.

“Thank god you’re alright,” she said without thinking, only allowing herself to relax now that she knew Dena had made it back from the spirit world. She’d feared for his safety the moment she’d realized the implications of Alistair’s demon attempting to kill them and keep their bodies trapped in the spirit world, and her worry had only increased when Pamela’s awakening enchantment had failed to work. The seer had told them that Dean’s delay most likely meant he was preoccupied, which Melanie had of course had understood to mean that he’d been intercepted by Alistair.

But he’d come back seemingly unscathed, and Melanie didn’t bother to hide her relief as she stared down at him. It was only now that Dean was alive and well in the living world again that she realized just how terrified she’d been at the thought of losing him.

“What’s going on?” Dean demanded, pulling himself up into a seated position the moment he caught sight of Pamela laying on the other bed with her hand clutched over her middle.

“Where’s Tessa?” Sam asked in favor of answering his brother’s question, and Dean’s face darkened as he came to the logical and regrettably correct conclusion about why Sam would bother asking.

“She’s gone,” Dean told him as he rose to his feet. He pulled Melanie up with him as he approached Pamela, his hand now clutching hers.

A long silence followed during which Pamela took a few large gulps of her drink to drown out the pain as blood began to seep from between her fingers.

“I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this,” Sam told Pamela, his eyes wide as he watched the scarlet liquid stain her clothes and drip down onto the bedding.

“You tell that damned Bobby Singer he can go to hell,” Pamela coughed around the rim of her glass. “I told him I didn’t want anything to do with the two of you; I knew you were trouble from the moment he introduced me to you,” she choked out.

Melanie shifted uncomfortably at Pamela’s words, feeling as if she was intruding on something incredibly personal. She hardly knew Pamela, certainly not as well as the Winchesters did, yet here she was witnessing the woman’s final words. Melanie knew the true meaning behind what Pamela was saying; she was telling Sam and Dean to take care of themselves, to watch their backs and look out for each other. She wasn’t telling them that she regretted ever meeting them—she wanted them to know she loved them. She loved them in the same ridiculous, unconditional, illogical way everyone important in their lives seemed to.

“You’re going to a better place, Pamela,” Sam promised her with a sad smile, and Melanie noticed Dean give his brother an odd look a moment later. She had to admit that Sam making declarations about the wonders of the afterlife rubbed her the wrong way as well; Sam had no way of knowing that Pamela would find herself in a better place once she passed on. Even in this woman’s final moments of life, Sam wouldn’t show her the decency of telling her the truth.

And it bothered Melanie to no end.

“How the hell could you possibly know that?” Pamela immediately demanded, calling Sam out on his lie without hesitation, and Melanie couldn’t help but smile. She felt a throbbing pain in the back of her throat as she found herself appreciating the woman’s brash personality too late; if given more time, perhaps they might have even been friends.

“Come here,” Pamela requested a few moments later, beckoning Sam closer, and Melanie and Dean both instinctively stepped forward, eager to hear whatever she had to say. But Pamela pulled Sam close enough that her mouth rested just beside his ear, making it clear that her words were for him alone.

Although she couldn’t hear what the seer told him, Melanie could determine from the worried and guilty expression on Sam’s face that whatever secret they shared was related to what Sam had done to the demon that had attacked them. And as Sam’s expression morphed into one of panicked horror, Melanie assumed that Pamela had told him using his mind powers against demons wasn’t the best idea.

But a moment later Pamela was gone, her hand falling away from where she’d kept pressure on her gushing wound and her head lolling against her shoulder.

“What did she say to you?” Dean demanded, his harsh tone intruding on the heavy silence. But Sam failed to answer him, and it became all too clear to Melanie that the Winchesters weren’t only keeping secrets from her, but from each other as well.

*~*~*~*~*                               

In the end it was Dean who called 911.

They fed the police the simple story they’d all agreed on beforehand: a man they’d never seen before had barged into their room and attacked Pamela, and after the assailant stabbed her he just collapsed. The paramedics assured them that as strange as it was, the man had indeed dropped dead after killing Pamela; there was nothing they could have done.

Melanie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool window of the backseat as Dean pulled the Impala out of the hotel parking lot. Red and blue lights flashed across her vision even from behind her eyelids, and she could tell by the abruptness of Dean’s turns that he was still upset about their decision to let the police take Pamela’s body instead of giving her a hunter’s burial.

But Melanie herself was more unsettled by the knowledge that Pamela’s passing also meant the death of all the others in the town who’d manage to duck under the reapers’ radar. Scott Parker, the man who’d dedicated his time to bettering the lives of orphans across the country, would be gone by now, she knew. So would many others, good people who had done nothing in particular to deserve a second chance but who didn’t deserve to have their lives taken away from them, either.

She knew her brother Joseph’s encounter with cancer made her particularly sympathetic to Parker’s case, but that didn’t change her feelings in the slightest. Not only had Joseph been given a second chance and been allowed to live, Melanie herself had been brought back from the dead.

So now here she was, a girl once dead, speeding away from a town once again made slaves to mortality.

_Nature mandates that souls should live and die_

_But sometimes  we must intervene for the betterment of all_

_But standards must not fall and crumble_

_For if life reigned and Death was ignored_

_Anarchy would take the place_

_Of the illusion of freedom that we permit_

 


	6. Apologies

Melanie blinked awake as the Impala’s engine cut off, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up a bit straighter in the backseat as Dean pushed open his door. He paused, looking over at his brother when Sam didn’t move.

“You coming?” he asked, and Sam hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“I was thinking about going out for a while, just to get some air,” Sam told him, and Dean looked as if he wanted to protest. Melanie got the feeling that Sam was, at least at the moment, more shaken up by whatever Pamela had told him than by her death, and Dean’s thoughts seemed to follow the same line of reasoning. It wasn’t likely that Dean would let his brother drive off into the night when Sam wouldn’t even give him the slightest hint as to what Pamela had told him.

But Sam continued before Dean got a chance to argue.

“And I was also thinking that maybe you and Melanie could use some, uhm, alone time. To, you know….talk,” Sam finished awkwardly, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders when Dean merely stared at him.

But instead of refusing to let Sam go and demanding that he accompany them inside to hash out their issues and shine light on all their secrets, Dean wordlessly glanced at Melanie in the rear-view mirror before tossing Sam the keys and climbing out of the car.

Melanie remained frozen in the backseat for a moment as the Impala door creaked shut, and she glanced up at Sam to see him fingering the keys in his hand. She felt as if she should say something to him, convince him to confide in Dean and explain everything he was keeping from him. If he wanted talking, Sam should start by better communicating with his brother.

But Melanie decided she should probably focus on mending her own relationship with Dean before she got herself tangled up in the brothers’ issues. So she followed the elder Winchester into the motel, and purposefully refrained from looking over her shoulder to see which direction Sam drove off in when she heard the car pull out of the parking lot.

Melanie shrugged off her jacket and made her way to the bed after closing the door behind her, doing her best to ignore the nearly palpable tension in the room as Dean dumped his bag onto the table. She sat down as he wandered about the room, clearly looking for some sort of menial task to perform, but his failure to find an adequate way to occupy his time only made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

They both knew Melanie was still annoyed with the way he’d treated her during their encounter with Tessa back in Cole’s house, and the longer they remained in silence the more Melanie began to recall her feelings of shocked disgust and annoyed betrayal.

She glanced in Dean’s direction when he let out a heavy sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip as he finally ceased pacing back and forth across the room.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted as he let his arms fall to his side, and Melanie didn’t miss a beat before demanding an explanation. She was now in much the same mindset that she’d been in as she’d listened to Dean mock her about his kiss with Tessa, and she felt no need to grovel in thanks for Dean’s overdue apology.

“You’re sorry for what, exactly?” she questioned, her tone sharp and clipped.

Dean let out a half sort of laugh in response, helplessly tossing his hands into the air.

“Jesus, if you want me to list it all we’ll be here for days,” he joked, but Melanie merely raised her eyebrows, still waiting for a proper answer.

Dean ran his hands over his face, his gaze traveling up to the ceiling as he took a moment to sift through his impossibly long list of offenses and select his most monumental missteps.

“Well first, I’m sorry for being such an asshole about not wanting you to fight,” he told her, getting to the root of the problem right off the bat.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, hoping he might shed a little light on the secrets he kept with Sam. Although Sam had advocated on her behalf back at the diner, Melanie was sure that Sam knew about Dean’s reasons for wanting her away from the frontlines.

Dean hesitated before answering, and it was all Melanie could do not to lean forward in eager anticipation as she waited for him to finally clue her in on what was really going on. But when he let out another sigh with a helpless shrug, Melanie knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“I guess I’m just..” he frowned as if deep in concentration, like whatever concept he wanted to express was so complex and was buried so deep inside of him that he could hardly figure out how to put it into words. “I’m just afraid of losing you,” Dean told her, the words finally tumbling from his lips as if he himself had only just now discovered the information.

Melanie stared at him in shock, her goal of uncovering his Sammy Secrets now forgotten as she quickly became aware of two things: first, that Dean genuinely meant what he’d just said; second, that Dean had actually said the words aloud—that he was actually vocalizing his vulnerabilities and feelings.

Although Dean had been quite open with her that first night after she’d returned from hell, it hadn’t taken long for Melanie to figure out that his initial emotional expressiveness had only been an anomaly in his persona. It had since become quite clear that Dean Winchester did not merely volunteer information about his innermost feelings.

And yet, in the span of just two days, he’d revealed to her aspects of himself that even his brother, the person closest to him in the entire world, was not privy to and honestly could never fully understand.

The moment this occurred to Melanie, she lost sight of whatever direction she’d been steering the conversation in before. She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t concentrate, she could barely even think; all she could do was want him.

Melanie had missed Dean. She’d tried to ignore the emptiness in her middle whenever she looked at him, the pull and strain in her chest whenever she thought about him, but there was no denying it now. She’d missed him from the moment he’d begun to fade from her grasp back in the diner. And now that she knew why he’d done what he had, she missed him even more than she ever had before.

Melanie needed him. She needed his warm scent to envelop her, to smother her entirely until all she could smell was cheap motel soap, generic brand aftershave, worn leather, and the smoky gun powder of a loaded weapon. She needed to hear him tell her he didn’t want to lose her a thousand times over, to feel his breath tickle her ear as he whispered it and to hear his voice echo for miles as he shouted it from a mountain top. She needed him. And she would have him.

There was no hope of her remembering what she’d initially intended to say, but Melanie still felt as if she needed to say something to fill the silence. And so she blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I don’t need your protection,” she told him without warning, and she immediately regretted the statement. Melanie didn’t doubt for a moment that it was true, and she firmly believed that Dean really did need to know the vital piece of information . Nevertheless, her response was not the kind of encouragement Dean needed to ensure that he felt comfortable opening up to her. But even though she knew she probably should have gone with a gentler approach, there was nothing she could do about it now.  

Dean cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, and Melanie desperately hoped she hadn’t scared him away with her statement; the last thing she’d wanted to do was force him to shut down emotionally.

“I know,” Dean told her, and Melanie could only gape at him. He—he knew? That was it? No argument, no protest, no declaration that her status as a woman made her innately inferior and it was his job as a man to keep her safe?

Dean approached the second bed opposite her as Melanie continued to stare at him in awe and disbelief, and she was momentarily distracted by his increased proximity as he sat across from her.

Something in the air had changed in the past few moments—she was sure of it.

“I should also apologize for what I said before about you being jealous. After the whole…after the thing with Tessa,” Dean continued, and Melanie wished she could find the words to express her jumbled emotions, but she settled for a continuation of her silent stare instead.

It had suddenly occurred to her as Dean uttered that last sentence that he currently was not and never had been a jerk—not even when he’d been a complete ass. Beneath it all, under all the overprotectiveness and rude comments, he had still only ever been the same Dean from that first night. He’d always remained the Dean she didn’t hate herself for wanting, the Dean she could pine over without thinking she’d lost her grip on reality.  He’d tried his hardest to hide the fact that he needed her and to pretend that he was incapable of feeling pain, all because he’d been under the incredibly misguided impression that admitting the presence of a weakness made him inherently weak. In fact, Dean had probably even thought that acknowledging his vulnerabilities would hinder his ability to keep her safe.

And now that Melanie had sifted through all this information and fully understood Dean’s motivations, she could clearly and fondly remember each and every reason she’d fallen for him.

“I may have overreacted when you said those things,” Melanie admitted, despite the fact that she still believed she was entirely justified in her reaction to Dean’s mockery. “And you were actually sort of right—I was jealous,” she added, although for the life of her she wished she would just stop talking.

She was just spouting words now, blurting things she didn’t even believe, all for one reason and one reason only: she hoped that perhaps if she rambled long enough, eventually she would tell Dean what he wanted to hear and he would take her, he would have her and make her his. That was all Melanie wanted at the moment, all she could even begin to think about, and she’d babble on for hours if that’s what it took.

Melanie momentarily forgot how to breathe when Dean leaned forward in earnest, his knees nearly touching hers as he shifted onto the edge of the bed.

“But it was still wrong,” he insisted, and Melanie could hardly believe her ears as the man she’s spent the last 24 hours likening to swine told her that he’d been wrong when he’d cruelly taunted her. “I didn’t mean it, not at all. There isn’t plenty to go around,” he added.

Melanie wanted to tackle and devour him, to pin him down and completely submerge herself in his embrace.

But Dean clearly had things he wanted to tell her. They’d finally been given a chance to sort through their crap after all this time, and there was no telling when they’d get another chance to sit down and discuss things. So Melanie forced herself to play it cool, to keep it as light and focused as possible to prevent scaring Dean away.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that; are you trying to tell me you’re insecure about the size of your dick, or…” Melanie trailed off as Dean gave a small laugh, and she smiled at him as he gave his head a slight shake.

Something in his gaze changed ever so slightly, the shift akin to the difference in the air Melanie had noted earlier. Dean reached forward to push her hair from her shoulder, and she glanced down to watch his hand. He let his fingers trail along her collarbone and then around the hollow of her throat, tracing slow circles over her skin, and as he touched her Melanie felt as if she might explode.

But she held herself together as best as she could, forcing herself to remember how to breathe as Dean cupped her cheek in his palm and rose to his feet, tilting her chin up with his thumb as he stared down at her.

“I’m telling you that you don’t have to worry about me chasing after random women,” Dean told her, and it took Melanie a moment to realize he was responding to her previous comment. But her mind was far too preoccupied to think of an immediate retort as she glanced down at his crotch, the clearly noticeable bulge in his jeans now level with her chin.

“Why is that?” Melanie finally asked after a long pause, her voice barely more than a whisper as she slowly undid the clasp of his jeans. Dean slid his thumb over her bottom lip as she pulled down the zipper.

“Because the only ass I want is yours,” he told her, his voice low and gruff, and she let out a surprised laugh, glancing up to see him grinning down at her.

“I could tell from the moment we met that you were a true gentleman,” she said, maintaining eye-contact as she pulled his jeans down to his thighs. His attention was now wholly focused on observing her movements, his eyes following her every motion as she leaned forward to slowly drag her tongue along the length of his still clothed cock.

Her saliva seeped through the thin cotton material, the warm wet friction of her tongue making Dean catch his breath. It was all Melanie could do not to bury her face in his crotch and gorge herself on his dick, and she kept most of her attention focused on self-restraint as she placed open mouthed kisses along his shaft and lightly grazed him with her teeth through his boxers.

“I’m a regular renaissance man,” Dean managed to get out in a wavering voice, and Melanie looked up at him with another smile, pleased to see that his gaze was still entirely focused on her. She wondered how long it would take for his eyes to flutter shut as she slowly pulled down his underwear. Dean sucked in a breath at the contact, his eyes only closing momentarily as she began to kiss his cock, her mouth gradually traveling down his shaft as more of it was exposed.

Dean let out a low moan as her lips continued to explore his skin, and his hand slid around to rub into the base of her skull. The warm kneading pressure of his fingers pleaded for her mouth to come closer, begging her lips to take him in.

A small whimper escaped Dean’s throat as Melanie obliged him by enveloping the head of his cock with her mouth, and his breath went ragged as she swirled her tongue in slow hypnotic circles around it. She then focused her attention on the sensitive vein at the underside of the head, rhythmically massaging it with her tongue. Dean groaned when she pushed her hand into his underwear to take his balls into her palm, gently squeezing and tugging until she felt him apply a slight pressure to the back of her head to pull her closer.

Melanie began to suck Dean without need of any further invitation, the yearning between her legs growing when she glanced up to see his eyes screwed shut and his brow creased as he bit down on his bottom lip. Melanie absolutely loved seeing him like this, watching him flounder and whimper as he embraced his total lack of control.

He was panting her name now, whispering quiet praise mingled with desperate gasps and hushed moans, and Melanie closed her eyes as his other hand came up to lovingly stroke her face. His thumb caressed her cheekbone, and she was struck by the tenderness of the action. This experience was unlike any blowjob she’d ever given in the past; it was intimate, something meaningful and memorable shared between them rather than a quick gesture of gratitude that she’d later try to forget. This was different.

Dean was different.

Melanie reached around to squeeze his ass and Dean shamelessly moaned, his hips stuttering forward and her throat relaxing to take him in even farther.

But then Melanie was being pushed off of his cock without warning as he climbed onto her, his surging movement pushing her down onto the bed as he covered her mouth with his own.  Melanie fought to control her breathing as she desperately tried to keep from going into a frenzy. She’d been starved of his touch, deprived of that devilish mouth, for so long that she now felt as if she might drown in his warmth.

Was it possible to overdose on another person?

Melanie decided she desperately wanted to find out.

Dean’s kisses were ravenous and unrelenting as his tongue and teeth ravaged her mouth like a restless animal, and she reached up to pull him closer, his hunger matching her own. She could feel his hands sliding up beneath her shirt and she immediately responded by pushing her hands up his chest, tugging his jacket from his shoulders.

“Wait,” Dean panted, pulling away so suddenly Melanie’s lips still moved for a moment in a phantom kiss before her mind registered his absence.  “I have something for you, “ he added with a dangerous grin as he reached into his pocket, and Melanie watched him with completely undivided attention as he pulled a long scarf from his pocket. He let the garment pool on her bare stomach, the light silk cool on her skin as he twisted it through his fingers.

“What’s it for?” Melanie asked, her voice sounding far too weak to be her own as Dean began trailing his warm fingers along her belly, pushing the silk across her stomach.

“You said you liked being tied up,” he told her simply, and Melanie had never before been so aware of her own pounding heart. “I think your punishment for that little stunt you pulled at the diner is long overdue,” he added, leaning down to let his lips graze her lower abdomen. “You remember that don’t you?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin as he moved over her until his mouth was positioned just above hers. “When you made me spill my juice?”

Melanie stared up at him in silence for what felt like an eternity, watching the millions of tiny green and brown galaxies she could swear made up the color in his eyes. She reached down to take his cock in her hand, pulling in long, slow strokes and watching in fascination as his eyes took on a darker, more carnal tint.

“Spill your juice? Is that an innuendo?” she questioned, grinning as his long lashes fluttered and his brow creased as if he was deep in concentration; he resembled a scholar pondering the facts of life rather than a horny hunter getting a hand-job.

“I guess it was,” he gasped out with a breathless little laugh, and she gave his lips a quick kiss as she increased the speed of her pull on his cock. Dean leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers with a groan, and a helpless yet hungry moan escaped his lips when she began to flick her thumb over the head with every stroke.

But just when his breath was starting to become noticeably shallow, Dean’s fingers wrapped around her wrist and her hand was pulled away from his cock.

“Not yet,” Dean whispered in a strained voice as Melanie let out a soft hum of protest, and he brought her hand up to his face to kiss at her wrist.

And then his mouth was on her stomach again, his hands pushing up on her shirt until she pulled it off for herself and removed his as well. His fingers were on her jeans and then her underwear was on the floor and her legs were spread wide as his mouth made is presence known on her thighs. Melanie whimpered when she felt his hot breath puff over her clit, begging him to take her in his mouth. But when she didn’t feel his tongue swirl around her highly sensitized skin, Melanie looked down to see a wicked grin spread across Dean’s face.

“You’re being punished, remember?” he growled around his smile, and Melanie could only gape at him as an indescribable and almost irrational want flooded over her at the sound of those words on his lips.

He was going to punish her.

Dean Winchester, the man who had mercilessly tortured and tormented her down in the pit, was going to tie her up and punish her.

Melanie had never been more turned on in her life.

_An apology from the heart_

_No matter how sincere_

_Does not excuse the most grievous faults_

_If it promotes further dishonesty._

_Oftentimes those administering punishment_

_Are the ones deserving of a stern reprimanding_

* * *

Melanie felt as if her senses had been turned up a notch, as she was almost terrifyingly aware of every sensation against her naked skin. She noted the cool fabric of nearly-white sheets tangled around her legs, the soft brush of Dean’s hair between her fingers, and, most vividly, the warm and wet tug of his mouth on her breasts.

She’d just begun to wonder if perhaps her nipples would soon go numb when Dean lifted his head from her chest to climb over her. Pulling her hands from his hair, he silently held her wrists above her head before bending down to cover her mouth with his own. Melanie desperately kissed him back, her heart pounding in her ears when Dean tightened his grip on her wrists in response. She nipped at his bottom lip and Dean let out a grunt, his fingers increasing their pressure, and Melanie sighed in response. She wanted him to bruise her, to leave a mark that would prove to the world that she was his.

But Dean was too gentle for that, she knew; he seemed to be strictly against hurting her in any way, even if a bit of pain was what Melanie desperately craved from him.  Although, perhaps with a bit of encouragement…

Melanie broke the kiss as she felt Dean wrap the silk ribbon around her wrists, and she quickly opened her mouth to speak before he could get a word in.

“I want you to fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone before,” she told him, her voice faint and winded as her lungs fought to regain the oxygen they’d been deprived of while Dean had kissed her. Dean stared down at her in surprise, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. “I want you to fuck me like an animal, Dean,” she continued, and Meanie now wasn’t sure if she was elaborating to make sure he understood what she wanted, or if she was merely motivated by the increasing redness in Dean’s cheeks. “I want you to completely ruin me, to tear me apart until I’m nothing more than a whimpering mess.”

He continued to stare at her, and Melanie could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he weighed the definite pros of a damn good shag with the possible cons of…well, there weren’t really any cons in this case, were there? At least not any that Melanie could see. And, when Dean leaned forward to place a kiss behind her ear, she knew he hadn’t been able to locate a downside either.

“I’ve always thought of myself as a gentle lover, but I can do hot and dirty if that’s what you want,” he told her, and Melanie let out a sigh, tugging a bit at her arm restraints as she imagined running her hands along his well-muscled back.  “I can do whatever you want,” Dean added in a whisper, his lips warm on her ear, and Melanie rolled her hips up into his with a moan in a wordless plea to be kissed again.

Giving in to her request, Dean ran his hands up and down her upper arms as he kissed her slowly, deeply. Although she’d asked for rough and relentless, Melanie still felt as if she could never get enough of these drawn out kisses that made her legs lift from the mattress to wrap around Dean’s middle. But it ended far too soon, and she held back a huff of complaint as Dean unhooked her ankles from around his back and kneeled before her. Despite her longing for that mouth again, she was still eager to see what he’d do next.

“Roll over,” Dean commanded, and she felt a jolt of excitement at the roughness in his voice. She did as she was told, shifting to lay on her stomach with her arms stretched out before her. She felt Dean’s hands on her hips a moment later as he pulled her up until she was positioned on her elbows and knees. She instinctively shifted her hips back like a cat performing an early morning stretch.

Melanie wasn’t quite sure what to expect as the seconds ticked by without any movement from Dean, but she sucked in a gasp of surprised delight at the sudden presence of his fingers lightly tracing her clit from behind. He was teasing her, she knew, but that didn’t stop Melanie from maneuvering her hips to try and increase the friction. She blindly chased his ever-evasive touch, her pelvis moving forwards and backwards and then from right to left as she endeavored to grind against his hand. Melanie knew she must have looked utterly ridiculous, but she didn’t care—all she wanted were those fingers.

Dean’s thumb brushed against her anus in his attempt to keep his fingers just out of reach, and Melanie unexpectedly found that she rather enjoyed the sensation. She instinctively pushed back against it, aiming for an increase in pressure.

“Oh, you like that?” she heard Dean murmur, his voice low and gruff, and Melanie could do no more than let out a moan in response. He lightly pressed his thumb against her, rotating the pad of his finger to distribute the pressure in tiny circles. “You like getting fucked up the ass?” he asked, and Melanie nodded without hesitation, her loose blonde hair falling from her shoulders to frame her face.

Melanie had in fact only experienced anal a few times, and it had been rather uncomfortable. But Dean’s touch awakened a spark of pleasure that the other encounters had lacked, and Melanie was confident that Dean could make up for her past experiences.

Dean added more pressure with his thumb in response, and Melanie let out another moan, wanting more. And then a moment later she felt the sudden sting of a slap against her ass, her entire body jerking forward as she let out a gasp of surprise before rocking back.

“You liked that didn’t you?” she heard Dean ask as he ran a calloused palm up and over the now slightly pink area. Her breathing heavier now, Melanie tossed her hair away from her face and did her best to hide her grin.

“Come on, Dean, I know that’s not all you’ve got,” she teased, the slight tingle along her flesh giving her even more pleasure with the knowledge that it had come from Dean. He bent down to kiss her where he’d spanked her, teeth squeezing as lips sucked and tongue swirled, and Melanie shivered, pushing back into him. And then his palm slammed into her again, harder this time, and Melanie cried out as her body flooded with pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s good,” she told him with a sigh. “But I think you can do better,” she added with another glance over her shoulder, and she was unable to keep a smile from breaking over her face this time. Dean raised an eyebrow in response to her challenge, and she watched in fascination as he bit down on her ass again. His eyes stayed locked with hers as his teeth dug into her skin hard enough to make her wince. He grinned in response to her reaction, pulling a gasp from Melanie’s lips as he bit down even harder. And then he was hitting her again, one, two, three times in quick succession, Melanie hunching forward with her face pressed against her forearms as her body shuddered with the force of his blows.

She let out a startled cry when he spanked her once on her other cheek just for good measure. Melanie heaved a deep breath as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her fingers twisting into the sheets as the hot tingle of sweet pain coursed through her body. She wanted—no, she needed—him to take her now, to fuck her into oblivion. But his warmth disappeared a moment later and she was left cold and alone on the bed.

Melanie turned to see him standing across the room, and her eyes scanned the backs of his calves and thighs as he rummaged through his bag. God, he was so perfect with that tight round ass and broad shoulders, and Melanie just wanted to stare at him forever, to hide away any garment that might fit him so he’d be forced to spend the rest of his days in the nude.

And then he was returning to the bed, twisting off the cap of a small bottle of lube and spreading the substance over those impossibly long fingers. Melanie could hardly breathe as Dean leaned over her and pushed her hair aside to kiss at her neck, his cock pressing into the cleft of her ass. She rolled her hips back into him, grinding against his cock as she silently pleaded for him to push inside of her.

“Not yet,” Dean whispered, and she let out a whimper as she did her best not to writhe beneath him at the thought of having to wait any longer.

“Then talk to me, Dean; tell me you own me,” she begged, her voice strained as he leaned farther over her to place open mouthed kisses along her throat.

“You belong to me now,” Dean told her, and she cried out as she felt a finger slowly push into her. “You’re my starving little slut and I’m gonna fill your ass up with cock and cum until you can’t hold anymore,” he growled as he pushed in another finger, and Melanie’s breath came in heavy gasps as she panted for him to tell her more. His voice was thick with lust, and Melanie wanted nothing more than to listen to him for all eternity as she pushed back into his fingers.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit for weeks without thinking of me pounding into your perfect ass,” he told her as she felt a third finger slip into her, and Melanie let out a delighted shout when his other hand reached around to rub circles into her clit. She buried her face into her forearms as jolts of desire shot through her, and she was faintly aware of the whining whimpers that now escaped her mouth with almost every breath.

“God, Melanie, no one could ever make me feel the way you do,” she heard Dean pant desperately as he pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades. Melanie let out a soft moan, breathlessly encouraging him to keep talking as he continued to massage her clit. She’d thought the vulgar words he’d growled before were enticing, but this heartfelt confession gasped from shallow lungs was exponentially more enchanting.

“I’ll never leave you, Melanie,” he promised, and Melanie pressed her face harder into her arms because Jesus Christ she’d never even imagined it was possible to want to be as close to someone as she wanted to be to Dean right now—both physically and emotionally. “I…I need you,” he confessed, and Melanie desperately wanted to respond, but all she could do was suck in a shuddering breath as he began to slide his fingers in and out of her ass.

She couldn’t even fathom a coherent thought, let alone voice one aloud, as she alternated between eagerly pushing back into his fingers and thrusting forward into his other hand. Everything felt so much more vivid, so much more enjoyable, with those three fingers inside of her. She was entirely soaked in what seemed like seconds, and as her breath only continued to grow shallower Melanie knew she was nearing the brink of an orgasm.

She was sure the increased volume of her cries alerted Dean to her current state as well, but rather than letting her come or holding her on the edge, Dean merely removed his hand from her vagina and reached up to cup her breast.

“You bastard,” Melanie panted as he left her twitching, dripping, and terribly unsatisfied. She could feel his lips spread into a smile on the back of her neck in response, and she was just about to tell him off again when he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers vacated her ass without warning, and she let out a confused whimper as he groped at her chest and stretched her hole wider. Melanie pushed back into him, straining for the hot length of his cock, but Dean evaded her movements as he squeezed tight and tugged hard at her nipple.

“I want you to beg for it,” he growled, his nose pressed into her ear, and Melanie couldn’t help but moan.

“Please fuck me, Dean. I want you to completely pulverize me, to ruin me. I want to feel you pound into me until my throat is hoarse from screaming your name,” she panted, crying out a moment later as his palm unexpectedly slapped into her ass.

“Louder,” he demanded, his voice stern, and Melanie took in a deep breath as she tilted head back to better project her voice.

“Please fuck me, Dean,” she begged desperately, yelling the words loud enough that anyone next door would undoubtedly become instantly aware of their activities. “I need your cock inside of me so badly, Dean. I’m your starving little slut, Dean, please feed me—feed me your cock, shove it up my ass,” she rambled, having lost any resemblance of a train of thought long ago. She would have continued, shouting out anything she thought might convince Dean to take her, but she was cut short but the sudden disappearance of his touch.

Melanie turned to see him kneeling behind her, his hand sliding up his shaft as he slathered lube onto his cock, and Melanie had never in her life wanted anything more than to feel him inside of her.

And then, finally, after what had felt like an eternity of waiting, Dean began to push into her. It was strange, having this huge object that didn’t seem to belong there enter her body from behind. Melanie’s hands balled into fists around the sheets as she felt a slight burning sensation and tried to ignore how weird this was. It wasn’t unpleasant or particularly enjoyable as Dean began to gently rock into her—it was just…weird.

She figured her silence would eventually alert Dean to her confusion, and sure enough after only a few moments he gallantly reached around to touch her clit again.  Melanie cried out at the sensation, the combined anal and vaginal touching nearly driving her out of her mind as he began to thrust into her.

Desperate to feel Dean’s mouth against hers again, Melanie pressed her face into the sheets between her forearms and imagined how wonderful it would be to have another man beneath her, another cock buried deep inside of her. The sudden image of an unfamiliar dark haired man with startlingly intense blue eyes exploded in the forefront of her mind, and Melanie instantly thought of fucking the unknown man’s thick, richly veined cock as his teeth tugged at her lips and his tongue explored her mouth. She had no idea who this man was or why she was thinking about him—all Melanie knew was that it was incredibly hot.

She shivered against Dean’s fingers as the unknown man— Melanie decided to call him Blue Eyes until further notice— gently ran his hands through her hair, and her ears were filled with the sound of Dean’s skin slapping against hers. Blue Eyes growled into her mouth and began to thrust into her more roughly, only increasing Melanie’s desire. She pushed harder back into Dean in response, fucking herself on his cock as his rhythmic caressing of her clit continued to pull desperate cries from her lips.

The fingers of Dean’s free hand dug into her hip as he panted against the back of her neck, and Melanie sucked in a gasp as he began to thrust into her with more force. Melanie sped up her movements, intentionally quickening her pull on Dean’s cock, and when she heard him let out a heavy groan she knew she’d succeeded in bringing him to the brink of an orgasm. Her grip on the sheets tightened and she let out a desperate cry as Dean pounded into her, nearly pulling all the way out of her ass before shoving himself back inside of her. Blue Eyes fucked her without restraint now, recklessly pushing into her from below, and Melanie shouted for Dean to go even harder, even faster.

Dean was happy to oblige her, just as she knew he would be, and Melanie’s legs were knocked out from beneath her after a particularly rough thrust from Dean. So she lay on her stomach with her legs splayed on either side of him, distinctly aware of the way she tightened around his cock as she continued to blindly thrust into his hand sandwiched between her body and the mattress.

Melanie’s movements were just as frantic and frenzied as Dean’s as they fucked like animals in heat, Dean relentlessly ramming into her from where he sat atop her ass as she shamelessly humped hand beneath her.

He leaned over her without warning, his hand leaving her hip to instead take a fist-full of her hair. He pulled her back until her neck and spine arched back, effectively putting an end to her affair with Blue Eyes. Melanie stared up at him, all thoughts of the blue-eyed man immediately fading from her mind as she watched Dean’s flushed face and shockingly loving eyes. She let out a whimper as his grip on her hair tightened. And then he was kissing her full on the mouth, messily, possessively. He was going to devoured her, just as she’d wanted him to, and Melanie felt the pleasure between her legs only continue to build up even without the imaginary second cock.

Dean’s teeth tightly pinched her bottom lip and she whimpered for more, wanting him to bite her again. But then his mouth was gone, and her hair was released. She fell back down onto the bed, her head spinning.

“Dean,” she desperately cried, begging as loudly as she could for him to kiss her again. But a sharp tug on her hair quickly reminded her that this encounter had originally begun as punishment and therefore Dean’s mouth would not be returning to hers. But she repeated his name anyway, knowing he liked to hear her beg even if he had no intention of giving in.

He mindlessly drove into her now, his panting breaths frequently interrupted by low moans and strained groans, and Melanie quickened her movements against his hand as her own mounted pleasure ached for release.

“Please let me come, Dean,” she pleaded as his soaked fingers miraculously managed to keep up their insistent rubbing. “I’ll be a good girl from now on, I promise. Just let me come and I’ll do whatever you want for all eternity. I’ll be yours forever,” she told him, her voice loud and tight, and although her mind was drunk with lust she genuinely meant what she said. Even without the condition of an orgasm, she would still gladly bond herself to Dean for all eternity.

Dean leaned low over her even as he pounded into her, and she let out a moan as he pressed a shockingly gentle kiss into the crook of her neck.

“I’ll let you come if you promise you’ll tie me up next time,” Dean panted in her ear, and the words were such a surprise that Melanie could hardly believe she’d heard him properly. But then the image of Dean Winchester stretched out with his wrists and ankles bound as she bounced up and down over him pushed into her mind, and Melanie didn’t stand a chance.

The pent-up strain within her clenched to a nearly unbearable level, and Melanie ducked her head and outright screamed as her every muscle constricted. Her entire body trembled as an indescribably dense pleasure punched through her, and she could hear Dean shouting as he struggled to hold himself together and let her continue out her orgasm. Her hips had since stalled as her brain gave up control of her muscles, but Dean’s fingers kept up their movements as he buried his face in her neck as he pumped into her at break-neck speed.

He let out a guttural yell as he finally gave in, but to her surprise the tension within Melanie didn’t fade as he exploded within her. Dean practically roared as he rode out his orgasm, the noise he made far too loud to be classified as a normal groan. Once he was done he collapsed on top of Melanie, his hand finally having ceased its movements.

But Melanie was still going, the pressure still pulled tight within her, and she desperately pushed into his limp hand as she begged him not to stop. She felt him pull his cock out of her as he removed his hand from beneath her, and Melanie let out a helpless cry before she felt his hands on her thighs, slightly lifting her ass into the air to allow him easier access. She cried out as he pushed three fingers into her vagina, and she rambled senseless praise as he began to massage her clit from behind.

She wildly pushed into his fingers, shoving herself down onto his hand as she begged him to fuck her again, to pound into her cunt the same way he’d ruined her ass. Melanie could feel herself falling to pieces as her mind’s only focus became the sweet release of coming.  She knew Dean was talking to her, his voice low and breathless as he told her how she was such a good girl and encouraged her to come in his hand. Or at least that’s what Melanie assumed he was saying—she didn’t actually catch a single word. When his velvety voice failed to bring Melanie sweet release, Dean began to kiss her ass and thighs, increasing the pleasure and drawing out this suspenseful pre-orgasmic state for longer than she’d thought was even possible.

Melanie buried her face into the sheets as she let out a desperate sob, unable to do anything other than cry. It felt so wonderfully close to what she needed that she didn’t know what to do with herself. She wondered if her nerves might begin to unravel from prolonged exposure to such pleasure as she let the sensation wrap around her.

And then she was screaming as Dean’s mouth licked and kissed at her clit while his fingers continued to push into her. The pleasure spiked to an impossible level, rapidly increasing with every caress of his tongue and tug of his lips, and it felt so good that Melanie could no longer really comprehend what was happening. Her lungs strained for breath and her heart hammered quick and heavy in her chest, but any innate fear of asphyxiation or cardiac arrest was entirely eclipsed by nearly unbearable ecstasy as pleasure rammed through her with all the force of a bulldozer.

The floodgates finally burst open a moment later, and her mind was swept away with an explosive euphoria unlike anything she’d ever encountered before. The pleasure came in such a thick torrent that it smothered and blocked out every other sensation, leaving Melanie to float suspended in the single greatest feeling she’d ever experienced.  

“Melanie! Melanie, are you alright?” she blinked open her eyes at the sound of her name, her brow creasing when she felt something soft and warm brush against her cheek. Dean kneeled on the floor next to where she lay on the mattress, his fingers gently pushing damp strands of hair away from her sweaty face.

She nodded slowly, her brain taking a bit longer than it should have to come to the conclusion that she must have blacked out. Jesus, it really had been that good, hadn’t it?

“You scared me for a minute there,” he admitted with a nervous little smile, and she smiled back at him as he returned to the bed. He untied her wrists, gently unwrapping the material to reveal deep pink impressions in her skin.

“Shit, I knew I tied it too tight,” he muttered, lightly tracing his fingers along the marks. He glanced over at her, an apology clearly written across his face as he looked at her with shame, guilt, and far too much self-loathing for Melanie’s liking.  

“No, it wasn’t you,” she assured him, and he frowned down at her. “I pulled harder at the restraints because I wanted it to leave a mark,” she told him, only realizing how messed up that sounded once she voiced it aloud. But instead of calling her a nutcase with attachment issues, Dean brought her hand to his face to gently place a kiss on the worst of the marks. His tongue peeked out to soothe the chafed skin and Melanie sighed, letting her eyes fall closed. She rolled onto her back, wincing slightly as some of her weight transferred onto her sore ass, but the pain quickly became a manageable dull ache.

She could feel Dean’s eyes on her as he continued to kiss her wrist, and he hesitated for another moment before lying down on his back beside her. She let out a sigh of content as he held her hand in both of his, his warm body pressed close beside hers.

And, for the first time since she’d lost her dad and her life had quite literally fallen to hell, as she lay there beside Dean Winchester, Melanie Clarkson finally felt whole again.

_Nature tends to right itself_

_Even when human emotion initially works against it._

_The plan is now back on track_

_And soon enough a final choice will be made:_

_Will he save humanity, or the One who made him human?_

* * *

Melanie lifted an arm behind her head, using her forearm as a makeshift pillow as she drifted in a warm daze somewhere between consciousness and sleep. She felt completely exhausted but still vibrated with an odd sort of energy, her every breath seeming to fill her lungs to a capacity that stretched larger than she’d thought possible. She could feel Dean close beside her as she floated on a lumpy cloud of metal springs and cotton, his body radiating warmth and a dense musky scent.

The mattress shifted beneath them as he rolled onto his side to face her, resting his head on his hand. Melanie waited a moment, taking in the last remnants of uninterrupted calm, before she opened her eyes and turned her head to face Dean. He leaned a bit closer to her once it became clear that he’d gained her attention, but he still refrained from speaking in favor of merely watching her.

As her eyes scanned his unusually relaxed and unguarded face, she found her thoughts wandering back to that moment in Cole’s house when the black smoke had arrived and she’d thrown her body over his. Dean of course believed that he could take care of himself, but from the moment they’d met, Melanie had felt an inexplicable need to protect him. Even if Dean had been the target of the smoke rather than Tessa, Melanie still knew her tackling would have done little to protect him. Yet she’d done it anyway.

When Dean had tried to step in front of her in the funeral home during Alistair’s tirade, Melanie’s desire to stand between Dean and the demon had trumped her fears. Upon awakening from the spirit world, Melanie’s first thought had been to protect Dean, not herself or Sam or Pamela, from Alistair’s rampaging henchman.

The more she thought about it, the clearer it became to Melanie that this was more than just a sudden emergence of over-protective tendencies. As a hunter she’d always been a bit more vigilant and careful about watching out for the people she cared about, but the almost instinctive way she’d looked after Dean in the past two days went beyond her preexisting instincts and impulses.

Dean reached down to brush a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, and as Melanie continued to stare up at him she was struck with a sudden realization. Although the angels may have told her that her purpose was to stop the apocalypse, they’d left out a vital part of her return from hell: her greater purpose was Dean.

It was undeniable now, that he was the ultimate reason she’d returned to life. She could feel it deep within her, believed it more strongly than any learned truth she’d been indoctrinated with throughout her life. For while the impossibility of monsters may have been a reality she’d once believed in but had long since renounced, Melanie knew there was no way this feeling could be anything but true.

She was entirely certain that her ultimate duty was to help Dean, to protect and look after him at all costs.

As Dean’s fingers explored her throat, she thought back to how his panted confession of needing her had still managed to warm her heart despite the context.  The implications of her protectiveness weren’t just one-sided—Dean needed her, and she needed him as well. She needed to know that he was alright, that he was safe, and most importantly that he was happy—or at least as happy as he could be with the shit that was their lives.

Melanie leaned up to bring her face closer to Dean’s, smiling at the small spark of surprise in his eyes as she pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. When she pulled away a few moments later, she noticed that the small hints of apprehension and fear she’d picked up on in his gaze just a few moments ago were now gone. She could tell he’d been hesitant to touch her after the events leading up to the sex they’d just had, the argument about Tessa and the strife that had been present even before that. She’d felt the anxiety in the way he held her hand in both of his, how unsure he’d been about whether she regretted what they’d just done or not.

But she knew that it was now clear to Dean that she was here to stay, that she’d forgiven him, that she’d acted out of affection and need rather than shameful desire and pent-up frustration. Dean may have feared that what they’d shared had meant more to him than it had to her, but Melanie was determined to make him understand that despite their past troubles, she really did care for him—more than made any lick of sense.

Melanie stretched up to kiss him again, reaching up to cup his face and pull him closer. Dean responded immediately, his arms wrapping around her waist as he let out the low groan of a desperate man who’d just realized that he would not be deprived of what he needed most. She slid a hand into his hair while wrapping her other arm around his shoulder, pulling him down over her and deepening the kiss.

When Melanie and Dean finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers with a content sigh and a smile. There were so many things she could have said to him, so many things he could have said to her, but she was sure no combination of words could even begin to describe what he meant to her and vice versa. And so they merely stared at each other, not even bothering to hold back grinning smiles as Dean grazed his fingers along her face.

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it a moment later, letting out a laugh as she giggled at his out-of-character speechlessness. Dean gave a quick nip to her bottom lip, provoking an excitedly surprised gasp from Melanie. He grinned at her before bending down to tug at her lip again, sucking it into his mouth as she let out a soft moan.

“You are wonderful,” Dean breathed once he let her lip fall from his mouth, his voice incredibly sincere. Melanie couldn’t get enough of the way he looked at her, how he stared in awe as if he’d caught a brief glimpse of the face of God.

Dean truly cared about her.

Although it was plainly clear to her now, there had been a few instances when it had not been obvious that Dean really had her best interest in mind. Their situation was anything but usual and their relationship existed in quite rare circumstances—and, to top it all off, Dean seemed to be in the habit of concealing his true feelings and emotions.

Of course, he’d been quite plain in his determination to keep her from fighting. Melanie felt her smile falter as she thought back to the events of the past few days through the lens of her new understanding of her life’s purpose. Dean’s protectiveness hadn’t  merely annoyed her because of its misogynistic and sexist tones; it had bothered her all the more because Dean’s misguided attempts to look after her had impeded her ability to look after him. Her need to care for him wasn’t a mission from above, wasn’t a duty imposed on her from someone else; it was a conviction from within, something that burned deep inside of her. Apocalypse or not, Melanie cared for Dean in a way she’d never cared about anyone before.

And so being kept from doing what she felt was necessary had deeply unsettled her, more so than if she’d merely been commissioned for the task. Dean had been stepping in on her territory, trying to do her job instead, and she’d resented it. After his apology and her response of not needing him to look after her, Melanie hoped Dean would let her do her job. Because Melanie felt that as long as she could look after him, as long as she had him, she didn’t really need anything else.

“And you are fantastic,” Melanie told Dean in response, smiling up at him before sliding a hand into his hair and leaning up for another kiss. He shifted off of her when she pulled away, laying back down on the bed to cuddle into her. Dean snuggled his face into her neck, wrapping an arm around her middle with a sigh of content, and Melanie smiled up at the ceiling as she realized that this actually might work—they might actually end up being happy together once everything was over.

*~*~*~*

It wasn’t until Melanie yawned awake six hours later that she realized she’d fallen asleep. The clock on the bedside table flashed 8:36 AM, and a quick glance around the room told her that Sam had yet to return from his supposed head-clearing drive. Dean stirred beside her, and she felt a jolt of dread as she realized he might’ve been trapped in another nightmare. But his slumber seemed rather peaceful, and she decided to let him continue to sleep—they’d had a long past few days and deserved as much rest as they could afford.

But Melanie had always been plagued by the inability to return to sleep once she’d woken up, so she untangled herself from Dean and decided to make her way to the shower. Upon entering the bathroom she turned her back to the mirror, lifting her hair and looking over her shoulder to examine the red marks from bites and slaps that decorated her upper back and ass.

“Admiring my handiwork, I see,” a gravelly voice murmured from the doorway, and Melanie turned to see Dean rubbing sleep from his eyes as he entered the bathroom with a cheeky grin. He came forward to rest his chin on her shoulder, holding her gaze in the mirror as his fingers trailed down her spine.

“You are so wonderful,” he told her again with a sigh, pressing his hand flat against her back to pull her into a hug as he buried his face in her neck. Melanie reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against him as he held her close. She was beginning to get the feeling that Dean’s repeated phrase served as his way of saying “stay with me, please don’t leave, I need you.”

After a few more minutes he gave her a squeeze and then stepped back to turn on the shower.

“Let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?”

*~*~*~*

“I still can’t believe you spend that much time shampooing your hair every morning,” Melanie laughed as she pulled open the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the room as the normal temperature chilled her skin.

“Yeah well this kind of perfection doesn’t come naturally,” Dean responded as he exited after her, patting his second towel wrapped around his head spa-style. “Except in your case, of course,” he added, leaning forward to peck a kiss on her cheek. Melanie smiled, giving a toss of her own wet hair before flashing Dean her best model face.

He laughed, tilting his head back as his mirth rang through the room, and he wrapped his arms around Melanie from behind. She leaned back into him, letting her head loll back on his shoulder as she smiled up at him. His fingers trailed up her thigh, tickling beneath the coarse fabric of her towel to sneak between her legs. Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a breathy sigh, slumping even farther back against him as her grip on her towel loosened. She let out a low moan, gently grinding her hips into his hand, but she sucked in a gasp a moment later as she hear the faint click of the motel door unlocking.

“Oh, Sam, you’re back!” Melanie cried as she scrambled away from Dean, accidentally elbowing him in the stomach in her rush to put a more acceptable distance between the two of them.

“Jesus,” Dean gasped out, nearly doubling over as he clutched at his stomach, and it took him a moment to register Melanie’s words. He glanced up just as Sam entered the room, the two brothers staring at each other with equal levels of confusion.

“Where’ve you been?” Dean asked as he straightened up, at the same time as Sam asked “What the hell is on your head?”

“It’s a towel, dude. You know, to keep…my hair healthy and properly moisturized…and shit. I don’t know man, why does it matter? Where were you all night?” Dean demanded, and Sam crossed his arms over his chest as he shifted on his feet. He looked even more agitated than he had the night before, confirming Melanie’s suspicions that this was about much more than Pamela’s death.

“I see you two worked things out then,” Sam commented instead of addressing his brother’s inquiry, quite a bit of bitterness in his voice. Melanie decided not to comment on the hypocrisy of him insisting that they work things out only to gripe about it the next morning.

Dean’s face fell and then hardened at his brother’s tone, all attempts of reconciliation clearly abandoned. Something had just shut off in him, and Melanie had felt a shiver crawl up her spine as she’d watched it happen. He glanced towards Melanie, silently asking her to try her hand at getting through to Sam now that he’d apparently given up.

“Is anything wrong?” Melanie asked Sam after a moment of hesitation, doing her best to make her voice sound gentle and non-accusatory—in other words, draining her speech of all true feeling.

“We need to talk to Ruby,” he finally told them, avoiding their gaze to instead stare up at the ceiling. Melanie held back a grunt of disapproval that Dean didn’t bother to suppress. But instead of demanding an explanation as Melanie thought would have been both reasonable and prudent, Dean merely shrugged as he walked over to his bag across the room.

“Sure, do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Work with her if you think it’s a good idea; I’m tired of trying to get you to use your head and fighting to get you to share your secrets. So yeah Ruby can meet us here later.”

Melanie stared at Dean in surprise, entirely shocked by his confirmation that he had in fact given up on trying to convince his brother to think and behave rationally.

“But we do need breakfast first,” Dean added a moment later with a forced playful grin, and Melanie offered a small sad smile at his vain attempt to hold onto the last few scraps of easy normalcy.

_Often times knowledge gained without permission_

_Only causes pain and turmoil._

_But when humans “discover” facts intentionally handed to them,_

_The outcome is only ever positive._

 


	7. Lemonworld

Just ten minutes into breakfast, Dean had already given up on trying to control his idiotic grin.  He ate his pancakes with a ridiculous smile, drank his orange juice with a smirk and a wink at Melanie, and he even paid the bill with a cheerful little nod as he gave the waitress a larger tip than was required. He was on cloud nine, finally getting a taste of the joy he’d been deprived of all his life, and not even Sam’s uncharacteristically antisocial behavior could dampen his mood.

Melanie tucked her hand into his as they walked the short distance back to their motel, Sam lagging behind with his head ducked down as if he was being stalked by his own personal raincloud straight out of a cartoon. Despite his declaration that Sam’s secrets were no longer his problem, Dean couldn’t help the tiny seed of worry in the pit of his stomach as he made note of his brother’s odd behavior. He could sense Melanie’s concern as well, and her frequent glances over her shoulder to ensure that Sam still followed behind made it clear that Dean wasn’t the only one who thought something was off.

Nevertheless, he was determined not to let Sam’s pissy attitude rain on his parade. He kept Melanie’s hand in his as he unlocked the door to their room, calling over his shoulder that Sam had better know a quick and easy way to contact Ruby so they could get back on the road.

But all thoughts of summoning home-wrecking demons vanished from Dean’s mind the minute he and Melanie stepped into the motel room. Cas and Uriel stood in the center of the room, Uriel’s disdainful gaze fixed on the tangled sheets of what was clearly the only used bed in the area. Dean wasn’t sure if he should cringe or smirk as he realized the angel had probably jumped to the worst possible conclusion about why a room for three contained one used bed.

But the awkward confrontation didn’t last long. Dean had just opened his mouth to ask Cas what they were doing in their room, when he noticed that Melanie had fixed Uriel with the kind of glare that would’ve sent Dean scurrying beneath the bed in fear.

“Oh, how nice of you to finally make an appearance,” she told the angel with a hateful smile, her angry sarcasm clear enough to even pull an arched brow from Cas. Uriel took a small step back at her words, his expression darkening as if he’d actually been hurt by her comment.  

“What’s going on?” Sam asked as he stepped through the doorway, but his question went unanswered as Dean glanced from Melanie to Uriel and then back again.

“Hang on, you two know each other?” Dean asked, and Melanie let out a frustrated huff. “He was the one to pull you out of hell, wasn’t he?” Dean concluded when his question went unanswered.

“Sadly, yes,” she told him, her gaze still focused on Uriel, and the angel’s expression darkened once again. Dean’s grip on her hand instinctively tightened as Uriel took a step forward; he wasn’t eager to see how the blustering angel would respond to having his pride repeatedly injured by the human who owed him her life.

“Will someone please explain what is going on?” Sam repeated, his tone more forceful and agitated this time, and his words managed to pull Uriel’s attention away from Melanie.

“You are needed,” Uriel announced simply, and Dean felt Melanie tense beside him.

Uriel gave a tiny little smile in response to her reaction, and suddenly Tessa’s insistence that this was all part of some sinister angel plot seemed infinitely more plausible. The three of them had just endured a hell of a night, at the angels’ secret direction no less, and now they were being ambushed a mere eight hours later with new demands from up top. They weren’t heaven’s little soldiers, weren’t mindless robots that would march to the beat of some communal drum, but they were being treated just like worthless pawns in a game that didn’t seem to have any rules.

Instead, the angels operated with one obscure goal that they were expected to risk everything to reach, but with no knowledge of how to actually achieve success. And, the more Dean thought about it, the more it seemed like maybe Cas and Uriel didn’t know, either. Perhaps they were all stuck in the same boat, working off of little to no knowledge and merely scrambling to make the best of things.

But no, that wasn’t right. Uriel’s little smirk made it clear that he had information the rest of them lacked. So maybe Cas was just being a good boy and mindlessly following orders, but Uriel knew what he was doing. And that realization only made Dean all the more wary of working with angels, no matter how much they claimed to want to save the world.

“Actually, I think you’ve made a mistake,” Melanie told Uriel, and Dean was pulled away from his mental reprieve as Uriel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in mocking inquiry.

“And what could we possibly have been mistaken about, Ms. Clarkson?” he asked, his lip curling into a slight sneer as he spoke her name. Dean got the feeling that if he hadn’t kept Melanie’s hand firmly in his own, she would have launched herself at the snooty angel and done some serious damage to his rather chubby vessel.

“You’ve seriously misjudged the people you’re working with. You see, we aren’t just brainless androids who unquestioningly follow whatever orders we’re given. We don’t work for you. We aren’t part of your little cult of ignorance and misplaced loyalty,” she told him, and Dean wanted nothing more than to give a ‘hell yeah!’ followed by the customary fist-pump. But Melanie was on a roll, and he didn’t want to distract Uriel’s attention from her brutally honest words.

From how she’d responded to their letting Ruby live, Dean had been under the impression that Melanie agreed with the angels and would want to help them do whatever was necessary to stop the apocalypse. But he’d clearly misjudged her—although she supported their cause, she was undoubtedly tired of them treating her like a tool rather than a human being.

“So if you want our help, you’re going to need to do more than make unreasonable demands. We are not weapons at your disposal, ready to lock and load whenever you need someone to do your dirty work. We are people, with thoughts and feelings and lives. Maybe you can’t understand that because your heart is three sizes too small. Maybe you do understand but you’re such a sick bastard that you don’t care. I don’t know. But I do know that as long as you keep up this habit of forcing us to help you without so much as an explanation or a thank-you, you aren’t getting shit from us.”

A long silence followed Melanie’s vehement speech. Sam looked impressed, and seemed to have been knocked out of his pit of despair— at least for now. Cas looked as if something he’d eaten wasn’t agreeing with him, his face twisted in the kind of discomfort that Dean had come to associate with the angel’s thinking cap; Melanie’s words had clearly unsettled him. And Uriel looked…pissed? Furious? Wrathful? No adjective Dean could think of quite cut it. But he certainly looked as if he was due to explode into a fiery rage at any moment.

But to Dean’s surprise and barely concealed alarm, Uriel’s voice was shockingly calm when he finally did speak.

“We raised you out of hell for our own purposes,” Uriel began, his voice low and so devoid of all emotion that Dean felt a chill run down his spine. That was not a normal human voice—there was a hint of something else there, something he supposed was technically angelic but sounded far too evil for such a benevolent adjective.

However, Melanie didn’t seem to have felt the same effect of stunned terror, and she didn’t hesitate before jumping in and interrupting the potentially homicidal angel. It only took Dean a moment to realize that despite Uriel’s heavenly powers, perhaps he wasn’t in fact the most frighteningly angry being in the room. Uriel’s reputation and ego may have been on the line, but Melanie fought with the conviction of someone whose rights had been repeatedly abused and ignored. And hell hath no fury like a human unjustly abused.

“Yeah, well maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if you could tell us what the fuck those purposes actually are!” she shouted, her voice strong and devoid of fear, and he heard Sam suck in a small gasp in surprise. Apparently his brother hadn’t expected Melanie to speak so fearlessly either.

But her conviction just made it all the more clear how much being left in the dark infuriated her—this wasn’t about her refusing to follow the angels, it was about her needing answers. The sooner Uriel realized that, the better off they’d all be.

“There are some truths human minds do not need to be plagued with,” Uriel told her, and Dean let out a frustrated yet pitiless huff as Uriel practically signed his own death certificate. Sure, Uriel was the one with the flashy God-given powers that could burn out eyes, along with plenty of other gruesome things. But Cas had made it clear to Dean that Melanie was the indispensable asset that the angels desperately needed—if they couldn’t please her, or even worse, if they turned her against them, they were screwed.

But before Melanie could go back on her pledge to help stop the apocalypse and ensure the world’s demise because of a self-righteous pudgy angel with too much pride, Cas stepped forward.

“If I may, he wasn’t actually talking about needing you in this case, Melanie,” Cas told her respectfully.

And, to Dean’s surprise, Cas’s calmly spoken words entirely stopped Melanie in her tracks. She stared at the blue-eyed angel with wide eyes, her hand trembling in Dean’s the same way Sam’s had when he’d seen his first ghost at the age of ten.

Dean frowned at the two of them in confusion, unable to fathom why Melanie would have a such a strange reaction to Cas’s presence. He was confident they’d never met before, but he couldn’t help but feel like Melanie recognized him as she continued to stare. Cas stared right back at her with a curious expression, just because he was Cas and Cas liked to stare.

As the staring contest continued, Dean gradually became aware of the heavy silence that had descended upon the room.

Uriel’s face had morphed into the text-book definition of ‘what the actual fuck is going on’, and Sam’s expression was a mixture of discomfort and concern. The fact that Uriel seemed just as weirded out as Dean made it clear to him that this most definitely was not normal. And so, before things could get any stranger, Dean cleared his throat and introduced the two wide-eyed strangers.

“Melanie, this is Cas—he’s the one who pulled me from hell. Cas, this is Melanie; you, uh, probably already know who she is,” Dean told him, pausing to hold back a surprised laugh as Cas gave Melanie a little bow of his head.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” Cas said, and Dean barely held back a snort as Cas spoke in a manner that was unusually polite even for him. But Dean’s amusement quickly vanished when he noticed the redness that had flushed Melanie’s cheeks at Cas’s gesture and words.

Melanie smiled at the blue-eyed angel as she tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she glanced down at her shoes before hesitantly looking back up at him. Her gaze seemed almost shy, maybe even demure, as she looked up at Cas with that timid little smile. But why was that? Melanie wasn’t shy. She was strong-willed and assertive and didn’t take anything from anyone.

And she’d certainly never smiled at Dean like that.

Although it was stupid, Dean couldn’t deny that this interaction between the two of them rubbed him the wrong way. He forcefully told himself not to dwell on it—there was no need to be jealous of Melanie and Cas of all people. Cas was…well, he was Cas! And she was his Melanie. Cas was just being weird, as usual, and Melanie was just being kind in the face of his weirdness. Nothing suspicious or alarming about it.

The longer he focused on how ridiculous it was, the easier it was for Dean to convince himself that he’d merely seen something that wasn’t actually there. Melanie probably just wished she had a special bond with Cas instead of Uriel the Tubby Tyrant.

But despite his best efforts, Dean couldn’t ignore how the thought of Melanie and Cas having a special bond immediately triggered and image of her naked and panting as Cas thrust up into her from below with darkened eyes and a hungry grin.

It was all Dean could do not to vomit up his pancakes right then and there. That was not what special bonds were about.

Dean was finally able to relax and clear his mind of such incredibly disturbing thoughts when Cas’s attention focused on him once more. Dean held back a sigh of relief as Melanie went back to glaring at Uriel, who’d reverted back to his natural state of ‘I am above everyone else in this room and would kill you all without hesitation if I ever got the chance’.

“So then who do you need?” Sam asked in reference to Cas’s previous statement, and Dean felt a small stab of guilt as he realized he’d nearly forgotten his brother was in the room.

“Seven angels, all from our garrison, have been murdered within the past week,” Uriel explained instead of answering Sam’s question.

“Ok, well it’s not like we’re the only ones who know how to fight demons. This one packs a pretty powerful brain-frying punch,” Dean commented with a gesture towards Cas as he recalled the way the angel could kill a demon with a single grab to the skull. “Can’t you guys look after your own?” he asked, and he did his best to ignore his nervousness when Cas gave a slight shrug and looked to Uriel.

“We don’t know how they’re doing it,” Uriel explained with a grimace, as if it physically pained him to admit that he didn’t in fact know more than everyone else on earth.

“So then what do you want from us?” Sam asked, and Dean saw Cas glance down at his feet and push his hands into his pockets. Something wasn’t right here.

“Any demon that can kill angels might be a bit too much for us to handle,” Dean admitted, mentally patting himself on the back for not pretending to be able to handle more than he actually could. In other words, for being nothing like Uriel. Of course even if he admitted he couldn’t do everything, that was no guarantee the angels wouldn’t try to make him do the impossible anyway.

Melanie looked to Sam at Dean’s words, and Dean fleetingly wondered why his comment about them not being strong enough had prompted her to glance at his little brother. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.

“We do have a tool that might offer some insight into how our brothers and sisters are being killed,” Cas tentatively offered, and Dean wished he could ignore the shiver that surged down his spine. Cas had never been one to beat around the bush, so why was he being so hesitant and cautious now? Something was definitely going on, and the more Cas’s discomfort grew, the worse Dean knew things were.

“What kind of tool?” Melanie asked skeptically, and when Cas didn’t answer, Dean wondered if perhaps the three of them were about to be murdered right here and now—only a betrayal that could could make Cas look so guilty.

Uriel didn’t answer, but instead looked to Cas. That little bastard, Dean thought as it became clear that Uriel wanted Cas to be the one to speak the hard truth. “Alistair,” Cas finally admitted with a heavy sigh and a desperately shamefaced expression like a puppy who’d just peed indoors—and right in the middle of his master’s bed, no less.

Dean could feel Melanie tense beside him, and he gave her hand a squeeze as he ran his thumb back and forth in what he hoped were soothing movements. Dean knew what Melanie was thinking, why she was so on-edge and visibly grew more upset by the second. He knew she’d already come to the only logical explanation as for why the angels had invaded their motel room.

But Dean ignored the truth Melanie had already accepted, pushing it away and denying it as he told himself that it wasn’t definite until one of the angels actually said it. But a moment later Uriel opened his mouth and confirmed the agonizing truth.

“Alistair is the reason we’ve come to you, Dean, his student. We need you to make him tell us how our brothers and sisters are being killed so we can prevent it from happening again. So we can have a chance at fighting back.”

“You’re our best hope,” Cas added, his tone sheepish and regretful as he kept his gaze focused on his shoes the way a puppy averts its owner’s gaze as it awaits punishment.

Dean glanced over at Melanie, and he forced away a surge of utter self-loathing as he took in her expression of horrified disgust. With one look, Dean was entirely confident there was no way he would ever torture anyone again. Let what he’d done to Melanie be his last act of cruelty, the final chapter in the story of his experience in hell. There would be no epilogue entitled “Alistair”.

“I won’t do it,” Dean told Uriel, not bothering to hide the choked affect his tight throat and slightly watering eyes had on his voice. If there was one thing any man was justified in getting choked up about, it was being asked to revisit a horrific and twisted period in his life. Being asked to do the unspeakable— again. No matter the cause, no matter what was at stake, Dean wouldn’t—he couldn’t—bring himself to do it again.

But instead of giving a huff of annoyance at his response, Uriel just gave a sly little smirk as if he’d actually hoped that would’ve been Dean’s response.

“Who said anything about asking?” Uriel said as his slimy smile spread into a grin.

And then Melanie’s hand vanished from his, Sam disappeared from his side, and Dean found himself staring through a window into a room where Alistair stood chained to a metal pentagram.

_We must oftentimes take matters into our own hands_

_When humans forget their place_

_Forget that their true purpose_

_Is not to think or choose or “live”._

_They serve the Almighty, just as we do._

_And nothing can stand in the way of our glorious purpose._

*~*~*~*~*

Dean had tried explaining to Cas why choosing him to ‘interrogate’ Alistair was a bad idea. He’d tried explaining how terrifyingly vivid memories of Melanie on the rack, screaming and sobbing because of the pain Dean caused her, would flash before his eyes at the mere thought of torturing someone again. He’d tried to emphasize how far he’d come in the past few days to feeling right again, how many steps he’d taken towards feeling whole and complete and undamaged, and the irrefutable fact that torturing Alistair would leave Dean just as broken as he’d been climbing out of the pit. Sure, Melanie might be able to somehow piece him back together again, but there was no reason she should have to.

There was no need for Dean to venture into the lion’s den again, especially since he knew he would enter as lion-tamer but eventually end up being shredded by the giant feline’s claws and devoured by its enormous jaws.

Dean had tried all these tactics, emphatically arguing and desperately pleading. But in the end, Cas had won. He hadn’t managed to convince Dean that this was his duty, or even that he was throwing away his wellbeing for a good cause. He’d merely told Dean that once the demons had satisfied their angel-killing hunger, humans would undeniably be next on their list. And they both knew which particular honey-haired human the swarm of Alistair’s demons would descend upon first.

So Dean had taken a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and briefly closed his eyes as he did his best to detach his mind from his body, to numb himself against the atrocity he knew he was about to endure. And then he’d stepped into the room, and essentially walked right into a his least favorite nightmare.

Because while his memories of torturing Melanie were gruesome, they were just that—memories. In his dreams was where Dean became a true monster, a more vile and villainous creature than he’d ever been in reality. In his dreams Dean was the chief torturer, the mentor, the blood-luster who trained desperate souls to hunger for warm crimson blood and flayed flesh the way he did.

“I’d hoped it would be you.”

Dean didn’t respond to Alistair’s greeting, and he ignored the pleased tone of the demon’s eerily soft and relaxed speech pattern.

“I’m glad your friends decided to let us chat in private—there really is so much to tell you, and I don’t think you’d want them overhearing,” Alistair continued, and Dean continued his perfected look of bored disinterest as he approached Alistair with the demon-killing blade and a squirt-bottle of holy water.

“Why are the demons killing off angels?” he asked, his voice flat and entirely void of emotion.

“You know, once you flew the coop with that doe-eyed boyfriend of yours, you left your little whore down in the pit with me for another ten years. We had some good times before that fat turd Ariel or whatever his name is stole her away from me. What, did you think the two of you were exclusive?”

Dean slashed deep into the demon’s upper bicep with the blade, cutting into the tender muscles that surround the socket where arm and shoulder meet. Alistair winced with a hiss, but he grinned at Dean a moment later as the pain caused by the gaping wound subsided.

“You’re really going to have to do much better than that,” Alistair told him with a lopsided grin, but Dean merely continued to watch him without moving. “Ah, you want to prove that my words won’t have any effect on your actions. It’s a real pity, Dean—these techniques you’re using would work so well…if only I hadn’t been the one to teach them to you.”

Dean stabbed him in the side, waiting a moment for the blade to sink in before he gave it a quick turn. Alistair groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head even as his smile widened.

“That’s better,” he told him, his voice tight, as Dean removed the knife only to squirt holy water into the wound. “Now, I’m sure you’re just dying to hear about all the fun Melanie and I had. All bets were off when you left, Dean—that’s when the party really started, when I finally had her all to myself.

“The noises she would make whenever I’d touch her—stroke the flat of the blade down her stomach and suck at her breast before driving the blade in and ripping it back up as I bit down on her nipple so hard it bled…oh Dean you missed out on some fun times with that one; things always get more exciting once we find the soul’s weak spot. I think my favorite go with her was the time I wrapped barbed wire around my cock and—“

Dean had forced himself to remain calm during Alistair’s speech; he knew the demon was just trying to rile him up, to get under his skin. But it was working—it was working incredibly well. Dean had done his best to hold back even as he felt near to exploding listening to Alistair talk about Melanie like that. But he’d broken as Alistair had begun that last sentence, shoving a jug of holy water to the demon’s mouth and forcing him to chug the liquid that would sear his insides.

Alistair coughed and gagged as the acid-like liquid pushed down his throat, and he spluttered and heaved when Dean finally pulled the gallon jug away. Blood and spit poured down Alistair’s chin and onto his tattered shirtfront, but his voice sounded just as strong as ever when the demon opened his mouth to speak only a few moments later.

“I can understand why you’re so upset, Dean,” Alastair told him as Dean returned the jug to the table and scanned the assortment of torture instruments. “It’s because you know she liked it.”

Dean’s hand froze mid-reach, his fingers clenching into a fist where his hand hovered over a bag of salt. No, punching Alastair in the head until his brain matter splattered Dean’s knuckles was not an option.

He could not afford to lose control. If he failed, he might lose Melanie. And that was not an option.

“It’s a shame, but I didn’t realize it until you’d already been spirited away,” Alistair continued, and when he smiled to himself , Dean couldn’t help but wonder, despite the circumstances, if the demon had just laughed at his own animated movie/angel pun. “But it takes a while to find a soul’s weak spot.”

Dean remained standing at the table, no longer bothering to conceal the fact that he’d taken interest in Alistair’s words—he’d never heard of souls having ‘weak spots’ before.

“It scared her at first, how much she enjoyed what I did to her. But after a while, towards the end of our time together, I could tell that I was giving her what she really wanted,” Alistair told him, and Dean felt bile rise in his throat as his mind instinctively jumped back to the night before, how Melanie had begged him to hurt her. He knew there was a huge difference between kinky sex and actually enjoying the horrifying torture that souls had to endure in the pit.

But even so…

“You know it’s true, don’t you?” Alistair asked, and Dean knew that although he’d intentionally kept his back to the demon, he could still tell he was getting to Dean. “I bet she told you to hurt her the last time you boned her.”

Dean flinched at Alistair’s choice of words, both offended and disturbed by the way he degraded what he and Melanie had shared together. Dean hadn’t ‘boned’ her; he hadn’t exactly ‘made love’ to her either, but there was no need to make it sound so vulgar and meaningless.

“I’m sure she made it seem like she just wanted rough sex,” Alistair went on, and Dean forced his breathing to remain calm, “but you knew, deep down, that it was more than that, didn’t you Dean? That she seemed to like it just a little too much, that she wasn’t just being horny when she told you to destroy her, to ruin her, to pulverize her.

“You see, that’s the thing most people don’t understand about hell. Quite a tragedy, really, that no one seems to get how it really works. We don’t torture people until they turn into blood-thirsty monsters, Dean. We let them have what they really want, let them give into that one desire they’ve spent their whole lives trying to repress. And once they’re willing to do that one thing…well, then they’re willing to do anything. We eat away at their will-power, at what keeps them human, until they turn themselves into monsters.”

Dean slowly lowered his fist down onto the tabletop, pressing his knuckles into the wood as he pressed his other palm flat against the surface. What Alistair was saying was impossible, just a hoard of lies crafted by the demon to unsettle him, to knock him off his game. And it didn’t really matter that it was working phenomenally well, because the fact that it deeply disturbed Dean and made him want to run sobbing from the room didn’t actually make the words true. Lies could be just as detrimental, if not more so, than the truth.

But that little seed of doubt had already been sown, and Alistair seemed determined to water the plant until it grew tall enough to block out the sun.

“So you’re saying I liked hurting Meanie?” Dean asked as he turned to face the Demon. His voice was low and rough as he spoke, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been when he’d initially questioned Alistair about the angel killings. “You’re saying that deep down, all I’ve ever wanted to do is cause other people pain,  because it’s my own personal little weakness?” Dean was sure to insert as much skepticism and mockery into his voice as he could, but even then his words didn’t come across as just as disbelieving as he’d hoped.

Alistair smiled.

“That is exactly what I’m saying. Hurting others was your weak spot, Dean, that soft little pouch of darkness that I could mold like Play Dough. And I have to say I’ve never been prouder than I was the day when you finally took the deal I’d crafted just for you: start torturing others and I’d let you off the rack.”

Alistair gave a jeering laugh as Dean felt his face crumble. It didn’t really matter if he could maintain the stoic torturer look now, Dean supposed. Now that he thought about it, Dean had never really had control over this interrogation to begin with. Alistair always had and always would be the one molding and shaping Dean, allowing him to bumble along with the illusion of freewill but always ensuring that he played right into the demon’s hands.

“Did you really think I was offering you a way out?” Alistair laughed, and he merely continued to talk when Dean refused to respond. “Even with all your cynicism, you’re still too trusting, Dean. Just a little longer torturing souls under my watch and you would’ve become an official member of the black-eyed club.”

Dean did his best to ignore the cold sweat he could now feel beading on his brow and dripping down his spine at the thought of looking in the mirror to see his eyes as dark and void of heat as obsidian.

“It scares you because it’s true,” Alistair added in a low voice, his smile small and faint. And then Dean was stalking over to him, fighting back tears with a bag of salt and the jug of holy water in hand. He roughly grabbed Alistair’s jaw as he poured the scathing liquid down Alistair’s throat before stuffing a handful of salt into his gaping, blubbering mouth.

Dean was fine, totally fine. He just needed Alistair to stop talking, to stop filling his head with these lies that might in fact have actually been half-truths. Because now that he considered it, now that he really stopped to think about it while Alistair spat out globs of blood and wheezed for breath, the demon’s words really did make sense.

But no, he wasn’t even going to consider it. Alistair was a liar and a manipulator who wanted nothing more than to make Dean second-guess his every belief and constantly look over his shoulder for the kind of monsters that only existed in his head.

“I hear you’re trying harder than ever to make up for it now, though, aren’t you?” Alistair asked, lifting his head with what appeared to be a considerable amount of effort. His breath was labored and his shirt stuck to his chest with the dark red liquid he’d spewed from his mouth. And yet the demon seemed unable to cease his chatter, no matter his physical state.

“Fuck her until she’s all better—that’s the plan, right? Or is it just until you stop feeling guilty for all the horrible shit you did to her? I guess it’s just whichever comes first, hmm?”

Dean’s fist collided with the side of Alistair’s face with a satisfying thwack, and he let out a small sigh of relief at the contact. Screw professionalism—he wasn’t going to let this demon scum, this creature who had torn him apart and broken him down to nothing, taint what he had with Melanie like that.

But the worst part was, Alistair had been rather accurate in his description of the very beginnings of Dean’s relationship with Melanie. He had intended to fuck her until he stopped hating himself for what he’d done to her. But Melanie had quickly vetoed that plan, and the past few days had made it clear that their relationship had grown into much more than some unconventional form of therapy; Dean didn’t appreciate the implication that he was in fact still where he’d started in regards to his treatment of her. He’d come a long way, and Alistair had no right to pretend that his progress meant nothing.

“But you already know that won’t work, don’t you?” Alistair asked, grinning as Dean’s face paled. It was almost as if—but no, that would have just been too much. Alistair knew Dean, knew him like a psychotic child knew every inch of the neighbor’s cat they’d skinned and dissected to feed their own sick pleasure, curiosity, and need for control. Alistair knew Dean perhaps better than anyone else did—probably even better than Sam, considering all the secrets the demon had unveiled down in the pit.

So the eerie way he’d seemed to know exactly what Dean was thinking couldn’t have anything to do with them being ‘bonded’ in the way Alistair had claimed in that warehouse-lined alley back in the spirit world.

Right?

“She was a lot like your dad, you know,” Alistair commented as if they were two old friends sharing an easy conversation and reminiscing over a few beers.

Dean felt his every muscle tense at the mention of his father. Apparently Alistair really was pulling out all the stops when it came to getting under Dean’s skin.

“Although in my opinion, she was even more exciting than Papa Winchester. She never showed signs of breaking—even when we found her weakness and focused in on it. Your daddy was strong and resilient and blah blah blah, but there were quite a few times, even in the beginning, when he almost gave in and just barely managed to hold back and resist. Kept us on the edges of our seats, that one did. Your bitch Melanie might’ve been with me for a shorter time, but she was much steadier in her determination not to give in to temptation. I knew exactly what she wanted, and she did too. But she absolutely refused to indulge, and I’m sure she could’ve kept it up for at least another ten to fifteen decades. Such a strong little cunt, that one.”

Dean seethed in silence as he merely stared at Alistair, knowing that if he lost control now he’d certainly bring the demon’s life to an end. He’d cut and slash the monster to pieces, hacking him apart the way he’d shredded Dean until not a single recognizable part of him remained.

“But Dean?” Alistair continued, having adopted the tone of a pitying primary school teacher gossiping about a kindergartener with particularly deplorable reading skills. “Oh, Dean broke after just three! He wasn’t the man his daddy thought he was, and even some whore who’d only been a hunter for ten years was noticeably stronger than him!

“Of course, it makes sense that she would be stronger than you,” Alistair remarked, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Dean’s reception of his speech instantly went from furious tolerance to active interest. Cas had mentioned something along the same lines about Melanie being the one who should protect Dean because she was somehow stronger, and Dean had had the same (thankfully correct) hunch about her abilities in the spirit world surpassing Sam’s as well as his own.

Everyone from angels to demons seemed to be aware of this mysterious ‘strength’ Melanie apparently possessed—everyone, that is, except the three hunters who would have most benefited from the knowledge.

But if Alistair knew something, perhaps this was Dean’s chance to finally get some actual information—and without having to go through the angel brigade.  

“I definitely should have seen it coming, with her being the Shield and all,” Alistair continued under his breath, and Dean frowned as he took a step closer. Shield? Shield from what? It sounded like some sort of title…but why would Alistair know Melanie by a title? And how did her Shield-ness relate to her abilities?

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded when Alistair’s words faded into silence. He didn’t care that this wasn’t what the interview was supposed to be about and he still hadn’t gotten Alistair to explain how the angels were being killed. Right now, all Dean cared about was getting answers to vital questions that no one had bothered to address so far.

But instead of helpfully outlining every aspect of the wealth of secrets surrounding Melanie, Alistair merely grinned in a way that clearly said “you a’int getting’ shit from me, boy.”

“You think those angels are dicks now, but you don’t know the half of it. Just wait until you see what they’ve got in store for you and your little slut! It’s going to be an exciting next few days for you and your ragtag little group, Dean; the angels are starting to get impatient. And when they want to get shit done fast, bodies start to stack up fast.”

“Hold on, are you saying—“

“I’m not saying anything,” Alistair told him, bruised lips spread wide across bloodied teeth. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he chuckled. “Just wait and see; it’ll be here soon enough. And then you’ll be wishing that blue-eyed featherbrain had left you with me,” he said with a shake of his head.

And as heart-stoppingly terrifying as it was, Dean couldn’t deny that he believed Alistair. Whatever was coming was going to be brutal; if the pain Dean had endured for the past hour here with Alistair was just a means to an end—a tangent, really—he couldn’t even imagine how catastrophic the angel’s actual plan would be when it was finally carried out.

At this rate, he might not even survive whatever ultimate goal the angels had in mind. Melanie would make it—he would make sure of that. But Dean? Perhaps his time was finally approaching (again).                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

“I bet you thought you’d be better off with a flock of winged freaks than with us black-eyes,” Alistair told him, and for a moment it was almost as if they’d actually slipped into an authentic master/apprentice relationship –as if Alistair actually intended to provide Dean with valuable, genuine guidance. “But it’s really starting to look like you picked the wrong team, Dean. At least we demons are honest and upfront about wanting to stomp the shit out of you.”

_Although humans might find it difficult_

_To discern truths from lies_

_Facts from fictions_

_A dependence on Revelation alleviates any confusion_

_Rids the mind of any doubt_

_And makes one’s true purpose undeniably clear and concrete_

* * *

 

Melanie stared at the space Dean had occupied just a moment before, her hand cold and alone now that his palm no longer pressed close against hers. She tried to slow her heart rate and calm her breathing, mentally assuring herself that she would get him back. She’d failed to keep the angels from stealing him away, but Melanie would not give up on her duty to keep Dean safe.

Melanie had always been hesitant to put her faith in the angels, as Uriel’s stubborn withholding of vital information was rather suspicious. And now that they’d stolen Dean away despite his clear declaration that he had no desire to interrogate Alistair, Melanie was no longer sure she and the Winchesters could even count them as allies. They were clearly only focused on carrying out their own agenda, and Melanie knew that if looking after Dean wasn’t one of their priorities, that undoubtedly put him in danger; they would use him for whatever means they desired, even if it wasn’t in Dean’s best interest. And apocalypse or not, Melanie’s primary responsibility was Dean; if the actions of the angels put him in harm’s way, physically or psychologically, then she would fight against them without a second thought.

“Hey, don’t worry; we’ll find him,” Sam told her kindly. When he offered her a small smile, Melanie realized she must’ve utterly failed in her attempt to remain calm if Sam was offering her his sympathies. For all her self-assurances, Melanie knew that Dean was in real danger. No matter what the angels thought about Dean’s torturing abilities, Alistair would still find a way to worm into his head and break his confidence. And once the victim gains the upper hand in even the slightest degree, the torturer has lost the battle. Alistair may have been the one chained and bound, but he would find a way to crush Dean’s spirit—and once Alistair did that, there was no telling what kind of devastation he could wreck.

Melanie couldn’t help but think that if she’d just done her job and protected Dean, she wouldn’t have been stuck wondering if Alistair would try and break Dean’s mind or his body first.

“How?” Melanie demanded in response to Sam’s assurance that they would rescue his brother. “We couldn’t stop them from taking him, so what makes you think we’ll be able to get him back?” Her words were harsh, more so than necessary, but Melanie was scared for Dean, disgusted with herself, and annoyed by Sam’s unfounded optimism. In just twenty minutes Melanie’s day had gone from bliss to shit, yet Sam’s raincloud seemed to have disappeared the moment his brother did.

“You’re not going to like it, but I know someone who can help us figure out where the angels have taken him,” Sam told her, and Melanie felt a knot of foreboding tighten in her stomach. Sam was clearly referring to whomever he’d snuck off to see last night, and Melanie didn’t like where this was going.

“Sam, no. She’s a demon. You do understand what that means, right? That she can’t be trusted and is most likely working for Alistair? What makes you think she’s actually on our side?”

Sam’s face had hardened at her words, but instead of answering her question, he threw her own actions back in her face instead.

“You’re the one who let Ruby go; you could’ve exorcised her and sent her right back to hell, but you didn’t. Why not? If she’s such a vile, conniving creature, then why didn’t you send her back when you had the chance?”

“There’s a difference between letting a demon go and risking your life on their word alone!” Melanie cried, unable to fathom why Sam couldn’t understand that her show of mercy didn’t mean she was willing to put all of her faith in Ruby.

“Look, I get that you’re suspicious. But she’s not like other demons,” Sam insisted, and Melanie glared at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. There was no way she was going to put Dean’s safety in the hands of a demon merely because she’d managed to sweet-talk and seduce the younger Winchester.

“Why, because she’s fucking you?” Melanie asked disdainfully, more offended by the idea that he would blindly trust any woman who let him in her pants than because he was shagging a demon. How could he be stupid enough not to see that she was using him?                               

“No, it’s not because of that,” Sam told her, clearly uncomfortable in the face of her crass deduction. “It’s because she’s our only choice,” he explained a moment later. And no matter how opposed Melanie was to the idea of relying on Ruby for help, she couldn’t deny the validity of his final argument.

Sam stepped outside to call Ruby, and Melanie took a seat at the table on the far side of the room as she waited for him to return. The more she thought about how relaxed Sam was about putting his brother’s life into the hands of the demon he was currently sleeping with, the more disturbed Melanie became. She liked Sam well enough, but he’d been acting strange lately; the fact that he’d exorcised a demon with what had appeared to be the sheer force of his mind, and then lied to Dean about it, couldn’t have been normal. And now, with this added revelation that he was sleeping with Ruby…

Melanie honestly couldn’t decide if Sam was so trusting that he’d turned a blind eye to the evil that was clearly just beneath the surface here, or if he’d decided to embrace darkness in the misguided hope of being able to use it for good.

Either way, whether he was acting out of naiveté or arrogance, this alliance he’d formed with Ruby could only mean trouble.

But despite her misgivings, when Ruby arrived and used an incantation on a map to find Dean, Melanie couldn’t help but feel grateful for the demon’s help. The use of dark magic had deeply unsettled her, and Sam’s suggestion for her to ‘relax’ had only made her more uncomfortable, but she couldn’t ignore the sheer relief she felt when the flames faded and Dean’s location was left on the table.

But when Sam smiled and told her that he’d known they could count on Ruby, Melanie realized that he did in fact believe he could use evil means to reach benevolent ends. And while it thoroughly terrified her, Melanie couldn’t exactly argue that Ruby’s skills hadn’t been the only thing that could have located Dean.

Melanie always believed that it was impossible to use evil to achieve the good, and anyone who thought different would only end up as a pawn in some villain’s master scheme. But perhaps she’d misjudged Ruby after-all; she’d helped them find Dean, and as far as Melanie could see, there had only been positive results.

“We should probably leave as soon as possible,” Melanie said as she picked up the small section of map that had been left behind by Ruby’s fire spell. “I don’t want Dean to spend a moment longer than he has to with Alistair; he was already wreck when he climbed out of hell, and throwing him back into the lion’s den with only a wooden sword is just going to leave more scars on his mind.”

“You’re right,” Sam agreed, but there was something about his expression that told her Dean’s wellbeing wasn’t his primary concern. “Dean isn’t strong enough to finish the job,” he said, and Melanie nodded after a slight hesitation. She supposed he was right; Dean wasn’t the same person he’d been down in the pit. Which was a good thing in Melanie’s opinion. But Sam seemed to view it as more of a weakness than a virtue.

“It’s going to take someone a lot stronger,” Ruby agreed with a small smile up at Sam, and Melanie felt her blood run cold. If after thirty years of being on the rack and ten years of apprenticeship under Alastair, Dean still wasn’t strong enough to beat him, what could possibly make Ruby believe that Sam could be strong enough to go up against the demon? There was something she was missing, and Melanie got the distinct feeling that it was related to whatever had given Sam the ability to exorcise that demon with his mind and even throw Alastair back in the graveyard. He’d kept his abilities hidden from Dean because Ruby had somehow been involved, and he’d known his brother would not have approved.

Melanie had been willing to overlook the fact that they’d enlisted the help of a demon to find Dean. But the idea that Sam was somehow using Ruby to make himself even darker than Dean had been in the pit utterly terrified her. She’d seen Dean do terrible things, and had even been on the receiving end of some of his most horrendous acts; the idea that Sam was willing to, maybe even wanted to, become that monster  was horrifying. Dean hadn’t wanted anything to do with the angel’s plot to torture Alastair, but Sam seemed almost excited to prove that he could do what his brother couldn’t—what his brother wouldn’t.

“I—I need to step outside for a bit,” Melanie announced, stumbling away from Sam and Ruby and out the motel door before either of them could even respond. She took deep breaths as she walked out into the parking lot, staring up at the open sky and forcing herself to remember that she was safe, that she was out of the pit now and would never have to go back.

Thinking about what Dean had done and Sam’s desire to lower himself to an even more detestable point had brought back memories that were all too real. Melanie wished Dean were there to pull her into a hug, kiss her on the forehead, and promise that everything would be alright. His words wouldn’t be entirely accurate—the world was still supposed to come to an end soon, and their lives would continue to be put in danger day and night—but they would have each other. And that would make it all worth it.

Melanie sighed as she looked down at the hand Dean had been holding when the angels had taken him. The map fragment rested in her palm, and as she stared at the small section of paper, she willed Dean to stay strong. She would be coming for him soon enough.

Tucking the paper into her pocket, Melanie took one last breath of fresh air before turning back towards the motel. She stood before the door with her hand on the knob, but hesitated when she heard the conversation going on inside.

“It’s been so long; Ruby, please. I need it,” she heard Sam plead, and Melanie’s nose wrinkled in distaste as she realized he hadn’t even been able to go three minutes with Melanie out of the room before begging Ruby for a quicky. Here she’d been, thinking Sam was shy when it came to women and that he’d always been far more respectful towards the opposite sex than his brother. But clearly she’d been mistaken, seeing as he couldn’t even keep it in his pants for three minutes.

Melanie was about to back away from the door, disturbed by the implication of Sam’s speech as well as his odd and rather disturbing phrasing, when Sam’s next words made her hesitate.

“It’s the last thing I want, but I need it if I’m going to be strong enough,” Sam added, and Melanie frowned. Alright, so if they weren’t talking about sex, then what was Sam asking for? What did he want Ruby to give him that would make him stronger?

Melanie stood before the door with her hand on the knob, unsure about what she should do. Even though her life was rather tangled up with Dean’s, she still couldn’t say she really knew Sam all that well. He was clearly up to something, but was it really her place to get involved? He wasn’t even willing to confide in Dean about it, and compared to the bond those two shared, Melanie didn’t know Sam at all.

But if Sam was heading down a road of evil, no matter how good his intentions were, Melanie couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. It may not have been her place to intervene, but the man who did hold that responsibility had been kidnapped, leaving her to deal with the situation. Plus, Dean didn’t even have the first clue as to what was going on—he clearly had his suspicions, but Sam had worked hard to keep his brother in the dark. If anything was going to be done to save Sam from himself, Melanie would have to do it.

Melanie pushed open the door and stepped inside, but stopped in her tracks the minute she crossed the threshold. She stood rooted in place, her body gripped by terror as she witnessed a sight far worse than she’d allowed herself to imagine. Sam and Ruby stood side by side, Ruby tying a bandana around a fresh cut on her arm as Sam wiped blood from his mouth.

Sam was drinking Ruby’s blood to make him stronger. Sam Winchester was willingly ingesting demon blood to increase his strength and give him special abilities. Sam was drinking blood. Sam was drinking demon blood. There was blood from a demon going into Sam’s body and it was happening because he’d asked for it.

Melanie could hear a ringing in her ears, and she was entirely certain that she’d stopped breathing. She watched as a terrified, annoyed, guilty expression spread across Sam’s face—one that perfectly mirrored a teenaged boy caught jerking off when his sister walked into his room without knocking.

Except Sam hadn’t been caught wanking while watching an unusually muscular dude suck cock like Joseph had on that afternoon she’d rather not think back to. He’d been caught drinking demon blood.

Melanie still couldn’t manage to wrap her mind around it. How—what—why—whose idea had it been to—how long had this been—

“You can’t tell Dean,” Sam said after what felt like an eternity but must have only been a few seconds.

Despite the fact that her mind had more or less turned to mush in the face of what she’d witnessed, Melanie was quick to fire back.

“I’m done being the keeper of your secrets, Sam. The other stuff I could ignore, but this? This is…it’s just wrong. I’m telling Dean the minute we find him.”

Something in Sam’s face changed as she spoke, his eyes hardening and his jaw clenching, and a stab of fear shot through Melanie as she realized he could actually kill her, right here and now. She’d made the classic mistake of telling the attacker “I’m calling the police!”, and would now suffer the consequences. Of course, Melanie had only told Sam about her plans to enlighten Dean because she’d never for a moment considered that Sam could pose a threat to her wellbeing. But then again, she’d never supposed that he could stoop so low as to drink demon blood, either.  

But instead of lunging for her throat or using his brain powers of doom and destruction to take her life, Sam turned away from her.

“Do whatever you want,” he sighed, an air of defeat clear in his voice. And although she would have loved to believe that Sam remembered that killing innocent people to get what you want or protect your deep dark secrets is wrong, she could now see that the demon blood in his system had begun to eat away at his moral compass; he’d most likely decided not to hurt her out of self-preservation and a desire to stay on Dean’s good side, rather than out of an actual concern for her health.

And if the only thing standing between  her life and death was Sam’s desire to avoid a fight with his brother –a fight that he surely believed he would be strong enough to win anyway—then there was no way Melanie would feel safe in his presence as long as that demon blood ran through his veins. Because the moment he decided keeping his secret was more important than placating Dean, Melanie could find her life rudely brought to an end. Sam had demon in him now, and no matter what Ruby had said to gain Sam’s trust, all demons only ever looked out for number one.

As she watched Sam pull on his jacket and prepare to leave, Melanie couldn’t help but wonder how much of him was demon and how much was still human. Sure the supernatural blood gave him heightened abilities and special powers, but it was also clearly influencing his judgment and thinking. Would he become more and more demonic as he consumed more and more of Ruby’s blood? If he continued to feed off of her, Melanie wasn’t even sure that Sam would continue to be Sam for much longer.

_Loneliness and feelings of inadequacy breed vulnerability_

_Vulnerability beckons deceit_

_But when those who feel weak are promised strength_

_Poison takes the guise of antidote_

_And bitter medicine destroys with the sweetest taste_

 

 


End file.
